The Order of the Flickering Light
by Hibbidyhai
Summary: Aramis Barisen Ibelin lived and trained as an Initiate in the Jedi Order, but was not selected to become a Jedi. But that wasn't the end of his story. Follow him as the Republic, and the Jedi Order along with it, falls. Follow him as an era of darkness descends upon the galaxy. From Order 66 to the battle of Hoth, he and his allies will be a Flickering Light in the darkness.
1. Order 66: Part I

**Chapter One**

The busy traffic of Coruscant, the planet entirely covered in a single city, didn't wait for the haggard looking family as they stared across a traffic lane. Speeders went by in flashes of color and light across the chasm between city blocks. A family, covered in rags, huddled together near a walkway that crossed the gap between a wide plaza and the Jedi Temple on the other side.

The father wrapped his arms around his wife, closing his eyes and attempting to shut out all the noise. The skin on his muscular arms was purple, crisscrossed with burns and scarring. "It's too much," he cried.

"We have to shut it out, Papa," said a little girl, approximately seven or eight standard years old. Unlike her mother and father, her skin was dark blue, rather than reddish purple. The family, excepting the girl, had grown up on a remote world far in the Unknown Regions known as Kesh. The advancement on their homeworld was barely medieval. The height of technology on Kesh consisted of crude watermills. The idea of flying cars flitting about an endless forest of skyscrapers was barely comprehensible to them. Especially after the years of isolation they, and the other families abducted from their homeworld, had faced at the hands of their mysterious master.

"She's right," the mother said, taking a deep breath. In her arms slept a baby, whose skin was the same dark color as his sister, differing from his parents. "Let's go." The mother took the first steps across the walkway. Her daughter followed, and her husband reluctantly took up the rear. He flinched and cowered every time one of the speeders zoomed overhead, mere meters from the tops of their heads.

The family approached the Jedi Temple, ascending the enormous set of stairs that mounted the ziggurat. A series of public landing pads lay on either side of the stairs. Here speeders and transports would land, deposit their passengers, and then take off again, making room for the next vehicle. The activity never seemed to stop, or even slow down.

They reached the top of the stairs and glanced behind them, gazing down at the wide road known as Processional Way. The boulevard led to a huge landing platform that hung over the edge of the base of the ziggurat. Towering over them were enormous stone columns, which stood vigilant before the main entrance to the temple, the Jedi depicted upon them in bronzium looking both majestic and serene.

The family walked underneath the columns until they reached the main gate. A security detail stood before the entrance, screening visitors with scanners and checking their identification documents. The family approached the gate, gaining the attention of the security personnel.

"Hold on," a human guard with dark skin said, holding up his hands and pulling them from the line. "Are you looking for the Jedi charity services office? That office is in a branch at the Senate complex."

"Not charity," the mother said. "We want to give our children to the Jedi."

"Excuse me?" the guard asked, frowning in concern.

"They have the Force," she stated. "We can't care for them, the dark man is looking for us."

"Momma…" the daughter began, suddenly realizing why her parents had taken them here.

"This is officer Yen," the guard said, speaking into the comlink on his collar. "I need the Gatemaster at the public entrance."

A moment later an aged Jedi Master, a hammer-headed Ithorian, emerged from within the temple. "How may I be of service," the Ithorian said, his voice a low rumble.

"You must take our children. They have the Force," the mother begged. "We are hunted." The Jedi gazed at the family, his eyes widening in puzzlement. He placed his hand on the daughter's forehead and closed his eyes.

"Indeed, they have Force within them. But it is...unstable. I haven't felt anything like it before." He looked at each family member in turn and then placed his hand upon the baby's forehead. "Where are you from?"

"Far away," the father said nervously.

"Alright, you may find shelter here. We will assess the children," the Ithorian said. He glanced at the daughter. "But we can make no promises."

oOoOo

Floating remotes drifted throughout a youngling training room deep within the Jedi Temple. The children stood in four neat rows, helmets with closed visors upon their heads. They carried training lightsabers, which were smaller and not as powerful as the real thing.

Aramis, all of four years old, stood at the end of the second row. He followed the remote in his mind, sensing its energy in the Force. Or trying to. Sometimes he could sense it just like the other children. At other times, the Force was cloudy. He did not know why he had trouble, while the other children did not. He studied his lessons and practiced just as hard as they did. Sometimes even harder.

Two Jedi walked amongst the younglings. They studied each child as they practiced with the remotes. The object for the children was to practice gaining a connection to the Force, and less about swordsmanship. The remotes, floating droids with low power blasters, were more difficult to sense than a living being was. But the remotes were also less complicated than a living, thinking being. The remotes did not have emotions or motivations. The remotes did not have the willpower to resist the children's probes.

The Jedi would correct a child here and there who held their lightsaber incorrectly or began swinging wildly. One child had perfect form with the lightsaber, but seemed to be struggling at sensing the remote.

"Aramis," one of the Jedi said, kneeling down until he was at eye level with the youngling with the dark blue skin.

"Yes, master," Aramis responded, removing his helmet and revealing his bald head. They did not know what species the youngling belonged to, or what world his family had arrived from. But they did know that the other members of his family had possessed hair. For some reason Aramis did not.

"Do you need to take a break?"

"No, master," Aramis answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

"Alright then. Remember to relax. Let the Force flow through you."

"Yes, master," the boy nodded before placing the helmet back upon his head. The Jedi watched Aramis for a moment, and then motioned for the other Jedi to join him in the hall.

"He is struggling again," the older master, a human with long greying hair, said.

"I don't understand why," the other Jedi said, a Zabrak woman with brown skin and polished cranial horns. "He did fine the other day. He excels at his studies, at meditation. He's top in his class in his primary lessons."

The human Jedi took a deep breath. "I've been following his progress ever since he arrived at the Temple. When he was dropped off as a baby his Force potential indicated he would make a perfect candidate. He was showing telekinesis ability before he could walk. Now...it's like he is growing less powerful instead of more."

"I don't understand how that is possible."

"Neither do I.

"Do you think he'll wash out?"

"We will see."

oOoOo

Aramis, six years old, knelt before the Jedi Council. He tried to suppress the awe he felt to be in their presence. True, he had met many of them before, including Master Yoda who often taught many of the youngling classes. But never all of them in the same room, and never all of them with their attention on him.

They all stared at him with curiosity, although the displayed it in different ways.

"Your name?" Yoda asked.

"Aramis Barisan Ibelin," he stated. He did not remember his parents, and had no idea why they had left him at the temple. But he liked the name they had given him before they had gone.

"You did very well during combat trials. And your lessons," Ki Adi Mundi said.

"Thank you, Master," Aramis said.

"Your spiritual energy is excellent," Plo Kloon said. "However…"

"We will not be able to select you for advancement," Mace Windu added, shaking his head. "You will not be selected to become a Padawan."

Aramis was shocked to finally hear the words spoken, but he was not surprised. He had barely passed his Initiate trials when he was four, and he had only fallen further behind his peers ever since.

"In service to the Jedi do you wish to remain?" Yoda asked.

"Master?"

"The Jedi Order is not made up of Jedi alone," Ki Adi Mundi said. "The Service Corp. could use someone as talented and smart as yourself. If you want to continue living in the Temple..."

"I do," Aramis said firmly.

"A bright future I foresee ahead of you, young one," Yoda said. "The end, this is not."

Aramis held his belongings tightly to his chest as he was led through the halls of the Jedi Temple. It had only been a couple of hours since he had knelt before the High Council and listened as the Jedi Masters decided his fate, and already he was being moved. His belongings didn't consist of much, a small box containing storybooks and a few toys, clay pencils for drawing, and a small datapad that he used for his lessons. He didn't need to carry his clothes. He would be outfitted with new clothes once he reached his destination, a boys dormitory for non-Jedi. Today would be the last day that he wore his Initiate robes. The Jedi leading him through the halls was telling him about the Service Corps, about how he would be able to serve the Light just as well as any Jedi. But he doubted that was the case.

Aramis could hear the Jedi's lightsaber bouncing against his belt as they descended a wide set of stairs that led to the lower dormitory levels. He knew that he would never be able to construct the signature weapon of the Jedi Order. It had been one of the things he had looked forward to the most.

"This is it," the Jedi said as they reached a blue door. "Go on in and report to the Dormitory Master. He'll be expecting you."

"Okay," he answered. He entered the doorway and found himself on the upper level of an enormous multi-tiered courtyard. The area was built like an open air garden, although there was no sky, only the ceiling that marked the barrier between the Jedi levels and the level that Aramis was now relegated to.

A fountain bubbled at the center of the courtyard, and around it knelt a dozen students, most of them only a few years older than himself. Off in the distance an instructor watched as students tested themselves with tall staves, training just as hard with their weapon as the Jedi did with theirs.

"Hello there young man," someone called. Aramis turned to find a human woman approaching, her auburn hair tied back in a bun. "Do you need to report to the Dormitory Master?" she asked, eyeing the small chest he held tightly.

Aramis nodded, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to escape from within.

"Alright, follow me," she said with a smile. "You're going to get your own room now, you won't have to share like before."

"Really?"

"That's right. Plus, you'll get to take trips out of the Temple far more often." He realized that she was just trying to cheer him up, trying to get him to focus on the positive changes. But he couldn't help but think of the life he had once thought was ahead of him, that was now gone forever.

She led him down a pathway that edged around the outside of the courtyard until they reached the Dormitory Master's office. The office had an exterior window that looked towards the Senate District. Aramis could just barely make out the enormous dome structure in the distance. A large desk sat in the middle of the room, and two chairs, sized appropriately to fit younglings, sat before it. The desk was currently unoccupied, but one of the chairs was not.

"Hi, my name is Kylta," a young Zabrak girl said, smiling brightly as Aramis took the seat next to her. "Are you the new boy?"

The girl was a couple years older than he, and dressed in the same uniform as the other children in the courtyard. Similar to Jedi robes, but much more like civilian clothing. Where Jedi robes were spun inside the Jedi Temple from special fabrics, these uniforms were clearly mass produced.

"Yeah," Aramis answered meekly.

"Well, I'll have to show you all the games we play."

"You have your own games down here?"

"Well...they are kind of the same, but not as much Force using."

"Oh," Aramis shrugged.

"It looks like we have a new arrival," the Dormitory Master said from behind them. He walked around the desk and sat. "What's your name?"

"Aramis."

"Well, Aramis, I'm very happy you're here."

Aramis did not feel happy at all, but he tried smiling anyway. The Dormitory Master began talking about his new life, and the more he explained, it seemed the more his old life faded away.


	2. Order 66: Part II

**Chapter Two**

A transport lowered itself through a middle-class neighborhood situated in the mid-levels of Coruscant. The streets were crowded with beings of almost every species imaginable, an endless flow of traffic. Street merchants tempted the crowds with tasty snacks and an assortment of sundry goods. Music played from the corners and alleyways, serenading the pedestrians with the latest musical hits from the core worlds. But the transport descending from above drowned out the music. It was a stubby vehicle with short wings, a green body, and chromium trim upon the twin engine nacelles mounted on the rear.

Most of the beings on the street spared sidelong glance towards the source of the noise. Although it was uncommon for speeder transports to land so near the concourse, it wasn't unheard of. What was unexpected, for those who noticed, was the type of vessel. It was not a civilian taxi, nor even one belonging to the local security precinct. This one bore the crest of the Jedi Order on its hood, and those who realized what the symbol meant quickly doubled their pace. They knew that whenever Jedi got interested in what was going on amongst the common people trouble was sure to follow.

A door opened in the side of the transport just as it touched down, next to the entrance to one of the towering apartment complexes. Two security officers disembarked the transport, blaster rifles in hand. An old human with dark skin and a long white beard followed behind them. Despite his age he carried himself with youthful energy, jumping out of the speeder with a bounce in his step that belied his world weariness of his dark wrinkled skin.

The man wore a simple brown and tan uniform, similar in color to the robes that a Jedi might wear, but tailored for everyday use for those not gifted with the full strength of the Force. Two additional figures exited the transport, following the old man in manner and uniform, although their youthful vigor was perfectly suited for their age.

One of them was a young keshiri man with dark blue skin and eyes with pupils the color of carbon, his head completely bald. The other was a zabrak women, her horns poking out of her auburn hair, which was tied back in a bun.

"The apartment is that way, Commander Yen," said the young keshiri man, pointing a short way down the street. The old man's gaze followed where his subordinate pointed, squinting.

"Very good Aramis," Yen said, stretching himself upright until his back cracked. "I sense that we will encounter resistance."

The young man frowned and ducked back inside the transport, retrieving a staff weapon and a belt with several stun grenades. "Do you want anything, Kylta?"

The zabrak held up her hands. "I've got everything I need right here," she said, smiling. The two security officers accompanying them readied their blasters. They wore blue breastplates and helmets, just like the Senate security corps, but with the addition of phase one Clone Trooper boots and gloves. The Clone Wars had strained the Jedi Order's budget, forcing them to rely on surplus gear from the Grand Army to equip their security personnel.

"We're ready," one of the officers nodded.

"Very well. I'd be remiss not to remind you to set your weapons to stun. We want to catch the suspect alive," Yen said, the wrinkles on his forehead crinkling. Together the group set off down the street. The crowd parted before them, and only a few of the myriad beings cast a second glance at the group. Even if most of the citizens were concerned at the presence of Jedi Security, they all knew enough to know they were better off steering clear and going about their business.

They went down a set of stairs that led to the level below, a cavernous courtyard with bottom level access to all of the apartment buildings which rose into the sky around them. This courtyard was in permanent darkness, shaded by the street above. There were fewer people here than above, but with the addition of an outdoor eating area that served the customers of the food carts situated in the middle of the courtyard. The group kept to the perimeter and went down another short flight of stairs, arriving at the entrance to one of the apartment buildings.

"He is in apartment 73-d," Aramis stated, motioning down the hall and to the left. The security officers took the lead, bringing their blasters into the ready position. They arrived outside of the suspect's door, each of them standing to either side of the door. Yen arrived next and softly placed a hand upon the door. It was made up of a light alloy durasteel, painted green and bearing numerous scuff marks.

"He is asleep," Commander Yen observed. "Kylta, if you would?"

"My pleasure," she said eagerly. Yen stepped aside, allowing the zabrak woman to place her own hand on the door. But instead of placing her flat palm upon the door, as Yen had done, her hand formed a fist. She took a moment, inhaled deeply, brought her hand back, and then punched in the door. The light durasteel crumpled inwards, popping off its hinges. She stepped aside, allowing it to fall backwards into the hall with a loud crash.

The security officers ran through the door, sweeping their blasters across the room. They found themselves in the midst of a dimly lit room absent any furniture. Instead, the floor was littered with numerous durasteel crates, most of them unopened. Their target had been sleeping on the floor, atop a simple blanket, when Kylta had knocked it in. He jolted upright only to find himself staring down the barrels of two blaster rifles. The target was a quarren, dressed in the clothing of an upper class merchant, and looking at odds with the room around him. He raised his arms above his head without prompting, his eyes wide with fear.

"Koruf Dar, you're under arrest for theft and conspiracy to traffic stolen goods," Aramis stated. He stared at the man, attempting to get a sense of him through the Force but failing entirely. The Jedi Temple, after the attack on Coruscant by Separatist forces, was beginning to take steps to safeguard their vast collection of artifacts against possible attack. Why they were only now beginning to consider the danger of storing their entire Order's collection in one central Temple, as secure as it seemed to be, Aramis did not know. But the danger in moving valuables is that they are vulnerable while in transit, and recently a shipment had gone missing.

"Check the crates," Yen said, gesturing around the room. While the officers watched the suspect Aramis and Kylta began to examine the crates. Aramis leaned his staff against a wall and removed a small scanner from his back pocket, which he used to scan the code on the nearest crate. The scanner beeped disappointingly, coming up negative. He heard an identical beep from Kylta's scanner across the room. They repeated the process until they had scanned the code on every crate, and the results were the same.

"These are from the Temple, but they aren't the missing crates," Kylta announced. Aramis glanced around the apartment. The only other rooms in the apartment were a small kitchen and the refresher, neither of which would have been suitable for hiding additional goods.

"You _are_ Koruf Dar? The Master of Shipping for Hydian Way Lines?" Ven asked.

"Yes. But I just retired," the quarren answered.

"After receiving a big payday?" Kylta asked. "These aren't the crates that were stolen, but they are Jedi Order property. Where did you steal them from?"

The quarren gulped fearfully. "I'm not saying anything. I want a lawyer."

"If you don't cooperate you won't get a lawyer. You'll be in front of a Republic War Tribunal, instead of the inside of a cell at the Jedi Temple," Yen stated, his expression a mixture of compassion and grim concern for Koruf.

Koruf stared at Yen for a moment, before giving in. "I didn't steal them. I received them...and they aren't being removed from the temple, they are being taken in. I decided I could get more for them on the black market than what they were paying me and just sort of...kept them."

"Who did you receive them from?"

"A senatorial aide," Koruf revealed. "He offered me a job at a meeting for the Core Worlds Shipping and Trade Association. Didn't reveal his identity." Yen placed his hand on the quarren's forehead and focused all of his mental energy. An image of a face came into his mind's eye, hooded but identifiable.

"It was Sate Pestage," Yen announced, a worried expression coming over his face.

"From the office of the Supreme Chancellor?" one of the security guards asked.

Aramis went to the nearest crate and tried the release.

"Hold on, you aren't supposed to open it," Koruf shouted.

After a moment of straining against the lock, which was a rotating latch meant to be unlocked by load lifter droids, Aramis managed to pop it open. As soon as he lifted up the lid an explosion blasted outwards from the crate, shaking the room. Aramis was thrown backwards into Kylta, who was too startled by the blast to attempt at catching him. Together they crashed into another crate and crumpled onto the floor.

Aramis fell into unconsciousness. He awoke a moment later to the feeling of Yen propping him upright. There was blood coming down his forehead and his vision swayed.

"Is Kylta alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine, just some bruising," she answered. He turned to find her sitting up against one of the other crates. "Are you alright?"

"I think he'll be fine, but we should seek medical attention for him at the nearest opportunity," Yen said. The older man turned to Koruf, who has being hauled to his feet by the guards. "Summon a bomb squad and take Koruf into custody."

"Yes sir," they nodded, filing out with the quarren.

Aramis got to his feet, despite Yen's attempts to keep him seated. "I'll be alright," he said, pushing his mentor away. He walked unsteadily across the room until he reached the sabotaged crate. "The explosion wasn't large enough to cause major damage," he said. "It had only been meant to disorient." He looked into the crate. The innards were blackened but mostly unharmed. The explosive device had been wired into the upper walls of the crate, while a foam shield lay across the crate's contents, protecting it from the blast. He carefully removed the shield.

Inside the crate lay a number of Jedi artifacts, but none of them were the priceless objects that had been stolen. All these items were modern. There were tattered and stained Jedi robes, state of the art data pads equipped with full sets of encryptions, utility belts, and, after Aramis pushed somethings out of the way, a lightsaber. He lifted the iconic weapon out of the crate and held it up for the others to see.

Kylta went to his side and looked into the crate for herself. "I don't understand. Why would they be smuggling stuff back _into_ the Jedi Temple?"

"These aren't the artifacts we're looking for," Yen said, gazing into the crate for himself. "These are things from the battlefield...these are from fallen Jedi."

Aramis wiped some of the blood from his eyes and tried to ignore the headache that was descending upon him. "We need to call this in."

"Agreed," Yen nodded. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his comlink. Just as he did so an alert began to blare from it, a high pitched repeating alarm. "That's the general alert tone...the Temple is under attack."

oOoOo

Aramis sat in the back of their transport, a bacta compress pressed to his forehead. The sliding door was open, allowing him to see people walking past in the early evening light. The people went along their way calmly, blissfully unaware of the emergency currently befalling the Republic.

They had been forced to call the local security precinct to secure Koruf's apartment and all of the crates inside of it. While they waited on the local police to show up they were forced to sit and wait, all the while listening to the Jedi's general alert ringing through their comlinks. The tone was meant as a quick and dirty alert, broadcasting a signal all Jedi Order personnel that the Jedi Temple was under attack, and that all available personnel should respond. But the alert tone would not stop ringing, and no one answered their calls from the Temple. It was as if someone were jamming the signal, preventing anything but the automated frequencies from getting through. And so they had been forced to shut their comlinks off as they returned to the street, where their transport had sat waiting for them.

"Let's head back to the Temple," Commander Yen ordered the pilot, who promptly lifted off from the street.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Kylta asked, eyeing Aramis as he held the compress to his forehead. Shrapnel from the sabotaged crate had embedded itself in his forehead, and it wouldn't stop bleeding profusely.

"I'll be fine," Aramis assured her, smiling slightly in an attempt to allay her concern. "I'd enter a healing trance if I could, but I'm not powerful enough." When they were halfway back to the temple Aramis stood and approached the cockpit section. Commander Yen sat next to the pilot, a Mon Calamari woman with brown and white flecked skin. "I've never heard the general alert tone before."

"No one has in several lifetimes…" Commander Yen began. "It's reserved for full scale assaults."

Aramis looked across the city. The evening sun was setting, and traffic was continuing as usual. There were no signs of an attack on the city, no alarms or raid sirens, no Republic gunships flitting about. If anything the city seemed quieter than usual. "Did the Separatists somehow get an army on the surface?"

"Check the comm frequencies," Kylta suggested from the passenger compartment. The pilot scanned through the public frequencies, yet there were no signs of any attack happening.

"Could the alert have gone out in error?" Aramis asked.

"Wait...I found something," the pilot announced. "A no-fly zone has been imposed around the Senate district. Military clearance is required."

They were now approaching the Senate district, and spotted smoke rising into the air in a thick column on the horizon. It was coming from the direction of the Temple.

"Land up there," Yen ordered, pointing towards a nearby skyscaper with a public landing pad. The towering building would offer them a generous view of their surroundings, while keeping them out of the no-fly zone.

The transport landed and, despite his injuries, Aramis was the first out of the door, a pair of macrobinoculars in hand. "It's...Clones….Clone troopers are attacking the temple." As he watched Republic gunships flitted about the Temple's imposing walls, occasionally firing streams of blaster fire from their bubble turrets into open canopies in the temple wall. A line of ground vehicles surrounded the front terrace, maintaining a perimeter as more troopers rushed inward.

Aramis offered the macrobinoculars to Commander Yen, who had disembarked from the transport and now stood beside him. But Commander Yen collapsed onto his knees, tears streaming down his face as he watched his home burn.

"The Republic is attacking the Jedi? How can this be happening?" Kylta asked. She took the macrobinocular's from Aramis but did not put them to her face. She could tell what was happening without them.

"I don't know," Aramis said, all thought of the blood still dripping down his forehead forgotten. "What should we do?"

Commander Yen glanced up at Aramis. "There is nothing the three of us can do against an Army. The Republic has betrayed the Jedi."

A trio of V-Wing fighters roared past them through the upper atmosphere, but close enough that their distinctive howl caused the transparisteel glass around them to reverberate.

"We need to head down to the lower levels," Aramis suggested, cutting through the noise as the V-Wings faded into the distance. He reached down and held his hand out towards Commander Yen. "Regardless of what we decide to do, we can't stay here. They'll spot a Jedi transport eventually."

"You're right," Yen said, taking Aramis' hand and pulling himself to his feet. "I'm sorry...I can...feel all of this death through the Force. But we can't give up yet."

They returned to the transport and retrieved some of their gear, Aramis taking up his staff once again. The pilot was not Force sensitive, but she too sat in her chair frozen in a state of shock.

"Leave the transport behind, come with us," Commander Yen ordered. The Mon Calamari came to her senses and undid her restraints. She retrieved a blaster pistol from behind her flight chair and joined them on the landing pad. Together they entered the building, each of them trying to put one foot in front of the other as their whole lives came crashing down around them.


	3. Order 66: Part III

**Chapter Three**

"In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the First...Galactic...Empire, for a safe and secure society…" Aramis found himself growing ill as he stared at the holoscreen. Supreme Chancellor...no, the self-proclaimed Emperor, was giving an emergency address to the Senate. It was being broadcast on all Holonet channels, without exception. Commander Yen stood next to him at the bar, a dismayed expression on his face. Kylta and the Mon Calamari pilot sat at a table behind him. Since they had begun their journey Aramis had spoke to the Mon Calamari briefly. He had learned her name was Akawa, and she had been flying for the Jedi only for a few years. Kylta had her hands covering her mouth in a state of ongoing shock; Akawa sat with an unreadable, emotionless expression on her face. Aramis took it for her species version of shock that was playing on on everyone else's faces.

They had arrived at this tavern after descending from the landing pad where they had abandoned their transport, bypassing the main levels and going as far down as the turbolift would take them. The bar sat on the edge of a precipice, a great chasm between the foundations of two enormous city blocks. It was filled with citizens of almost every species you could think of, most of them wearing plain attire. Typically, this far below the average surface level of the city, Aramis and the others would be more worried about half sentient cannibalistic cthon or predatory duracrete slugs than current events. But this close to the Jedi Temple and the Senate Rotunda, most of that unpleasantness had been cleared out. Especially since the beginning of the Clone Wars when security had been heightened.

"By bringing the entire galaxy under one law, one language, and the enlightened guidance of one individual, the corruption that plagued the Republic in its later years will never take root…" Palpatine continued. His voice boomed throughout the tavern, despite the volume on the holovid screens not being even close to maxed out. Every being in the tavern, even the most politically ignorant, were dead silent.

"I've heard enough," Aramis said, turning away from the bar. He sported a fresh bandage on his forehead after Kylta had pulled bits of durasteel out of his forehead. Although the wound had finally stopped bleeding Aramis' headache had not yet faded. He wasn't sure if that was due to his injury or Palpatine's speech.

He pushed his way through the crowd and out of the tavern, arriving on a small walkway with a rusty durasteel guardrail. The walkway overlooked a neighborhood hundreds of meters below situated in the canyon-like space between the huge foundational blocks that supported the cityscape above. The ground between the blocks were covered in tenement housing, structures cobbled together on top of each other like the hive of some kind of insect. Off in the distance, hazy through the fog that permeated the lower levels, Aramis thought he could see the stark wall marking the foundation of the Jedi Temple.

He heard footsteps coming from behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder. "I can sense that you've come to a decision, although you might not realize it yourself," Yen said.

"I didn't think you were strong enough in the Force to read the emotions of others," Aramis said.

"I don't need the Force to read your body language. You can't give in to anger in a misguided attempt at vengeance."

"I don't think such an attempt would be misguided, but I do know it would be unsuccessful," Aramis said, sighing in resignation. "You heard him in the speech…'Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple...The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.' They are going to try and wipe the Jedi Order from the galaxy, and from history."

"They won't succeed," Yen said.

"They will if nobody tries to stop them," Aramis said, shaking his head. He saw the concerned look on his mentor's face and made to cut off his next argument. "I'm not talking about vengeance, I'm talking about preservation. Despite what Palpatine says, I can't believe that he has eliminated the entire Jedi Order in a single day. There have to be a few Jedi left out there, we need save as much as we can from destruction."

"How would we accomplish that?" Yen asked.

"The foundations of the Jedi Temple are there," Aramis said, pointing towards the wall in the distance. "We can't save everything, not with an army of Clone Troopers surrounding the place. But I would be willing to bet the Clones don't know every way inside of that place. Not like we do."

"And what do we do once we get inside? We wouldn't be able access the vaults, even under normal circumstances."

"Remember what we found at Koruf's apartment? Palpatine's office was shipping artifacts _back_ to the Temple. Palpatine knew he would soon be taking the Temple, all the better to capture as much of the Order's stuff as possible in the process."

"I think you're right."

"So let's get inside and take as much back out with us as we can. If we hurry we can get there while the Senate is still busy with Palpatine's emergency session."

Yen nodded, "Let's do it." They re-entered the tavern, finding that Palpatine had concluded his speech. Applause from the Senate was still echoing throughout the room from the vidscreens. Nobody in the establishment was joining in with the Senate's applause. Aramis spotted Akawa and Kylta still sitting at the table and pushed his way over to them.

"Let's go," he said, lightly placing his hand on Kylta's shoulder.

"We're going to have to get offworld," she said, a worried expression on her face.

"Not yet. There is something we have to do first," Aramis said. "We have to go to the Temple."

oOoOo

It was an even shorter trip to the Temple than Aramis had anticipated, the distance disguised by the damp fog that permeated the underlevels. But it was a winding route to get there, filled with walkways crossing the chasm that seemed ready to fall into the depths, staircases covered in slick moss, and the stares of the inhabitants as they ran past.

As they got closer to the enormous monolithic structure Aramis began to fill a bit odd. He felt lighter on his feet. His headache began to vanish. He had once been told that the Temple had been built on a nexus of Force energy, but he had never been allowed to venture down and see it for himself.

The group stood before an enormous wall of white stone, the foundation of the Temple rising above them like a mountain. The decay of the cities' underlevels had ignored the Temple walls, leaving it more or less pristine. Aramis stepped from a duracrete walkway that wound its way around the artificial construction of the the city and onto Coruscant's natural ground for the first time in his life. His foot pressed down into the earth, which was covered in moss.

"This is the base of the temple?" Akawa asked, placing her hand against the stone wall.

"This is the outer wall of the base," Yen answered. "In ancient times the original temple was built on top of a mountain, and the city rose up around it. This wall was built around the Temple and then later was reinforced in order to support the ziggurat and the rest of the structure above."

"We need to find an entrance," Aramis said, circumventing the history lesson.

"There should be an outflow pipe somewhere along here," Yen said. They walked along the wall, their feet occasionally slipping in the moss. Eventually they came to a pipe just as Yen had predicted, which mostly consisted of a hole in the foundation that allowed moisture to flow out and away from the Temple instead of seeping into the ground.

The opening was just big enough to allow each of them inside, one at a time. Ring-like gaps in the stone allowed them a foothold, and up they climbed. A half an hour later they had exited the pipe and rose into what appeared to be a catacomb, a series of tunnels and rooms branching off in various directions. They activated small glow lamps which they pulled from their utility belts, bringing light into the inky dark. They slowly passed through the halls until they passed an empty bench made of stone. Aramis suddenly realized this level had once been an open air courtyard.

"Look," Kylta said. Aramis followed her gaze towards the center of the courtyard, where a withered tree still stood. It's bark was white, and there were still leaves upon its branches. Akawa stayed behind, apparently fearful of the tree, while the three marginally Force sensitive security officers approached.

Stone circles were set in the ground around the roots of the tree, which still appeared to be alive, despite the lack of light . "How is this possible?" Aramis asked.

"It's kept alive by the Force," Yen said. He gazed longingly at the meditation stones until Aramis prodded him.

"We have to keep moving," he reminded the older man. They left the tree behind and kept moving until they found a wide set of stairs that led them upwards. As they ascended the steps they finally caught a glimpse of the first light that wasn't being reflected back at them by their own glow lamps. A pair of lights set within crystalline matrixes stood beside a thick heavy door at the very top of the steps. The wall around them rose upwards for hundreds of meters. They had finally arrived at a turbolift.

"This should take us to the utility levels," Yen said. He found a mechanical keypad next to the door, carved out of the stone wall. Yen paused, his wrinkled hand hovering over the keys, his eyes closed as he tried to immerse himself in the Force. After a moment he quickly pressed five of the keys in quick succession. Steam hissed from the lift as the doors came to life, bits of rust falling off of them as they rumbled apart. The four of them entered the lift and pressed a button on the inside, next to the doors. The doors reversed and rumbled to a close, and up they went.

"Did the Force speak to you, or did you just get lucky?" Aramis asked, a smile on his face.

"A bit of both perhaps. This lift uses the same code as the one that lets you up to the top of Tranquility Spire," he answered, referring to the tallest tower on top of the center of the Temple ziggurat. "The same code that takes you to the top lets you down to the bottom."

"How very Jedi," Akaway murmured. The lift vibrated unsteadily as it slowed. The doors rumbled apart and they emerged at last into the modern part of the Temple, albeit its lowest inhabited level.

Aramis glanced around, finding that they were surrounded by steam vents, energy conduit cabling, and the blinking lights of the computers that managed it all. "Looks like the first utility level," he announced. They carefully navigated their way through the maze of piping and vents until they reached another set of stairs leading onto a main concourse.

Aramis and Kylta peered carefully around the corners, finding them empty. The halls still smelled of smoke and fire, although there was no signs of battle on this floor. "We need to get to a security room so we can find out where the Clone troopers are and find a route to one of the hangars," Aramis said. The others followed his lead as they wound their way through the halls. Each time they approached a corner they would cautiously check to make sure the way was clear. They only had a short way to go when they heard the sound of dozens of footsteps approaching.

Aramis ducked backward into an aclove in the corridor. The others hid behind the column behind him. Up ahead a squad of clones hurried past. "Two intruders on the main level. They're Jedi," one of the troopers was saying. "Squad ten en route."

"What did he say?" Akawa asked, who was hidden a few meters further away.

"It seems that a couple of Jedi are assaulting the Clone troopers," Yen answered.

"We have to help them," Kylta said, preparing to emerge from behind the column and attack the troopers who were hurrying towards the main level.

"No," Aramis said, holding her back. "The Jedi will have to take care of themselves. We need to use this distraction to do what we came for."

"He is right," Yen said. "We won't do the Jedi any good if we get ourselves killed." After the sound of the troopers faded they emerged from their hiding spots and resumed their passage through the halls.

Eventually they passed by a corridor that led to one of the dormitory levels. The floor was was littered with bodies belonging to Clone and Jedi alike, leading up to a blue doorway that had been blown open with explosives. Aramis and Kylta paused, both of them realizing that behind the twisted metal of the blue door was the dormitory level they had both grown up in as children.

They slowly gravitated towards the doorway until Commander Yen spotted them. "We don't have time for this," he called. "We have to keep moving."

"He's right," Aramis said, glancing at Kylta. She had her fists clenched, and tears were streaming down her face. She turned towards him, threatening to fall apart. He wrapped his arms around her and enveloped her in a gentle hug.

"I can't believe this has happened," she began. She pulled away from him suddenly, sadness briefly turning to anger. "All of our friends..."

"That's why we have to succeed," Aramis said, doing his very best to keep his own emotions in check.

"Right," she nodded. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "They're counting on us now." Together they turned away from the damaged entrance to the dormitory and joined Commander Yen.

"There is a security station up ahead," he announced as the moved on. Akawa, who had been keeping watch while the others lingered, motioned them onwards. Aramis took up the rear, his staff in hand, renewed determination on his face.


	4. Order 66: Part IV

**Chapter Four**

Aramis could hear his own footsteps echoing through the halls as he ran. The empty corridors, littered occasionally with the bodies of the dead, felt surreal. True, the Temple had felt increasingly emptied as the Clone Wars wound on. Over time more and more Jedi were called off to serve the Republic, and never made it back. But the silence that reigned today was more than just an emptiness. It felt like they were infiltrating the shell of a corpse, the corpse of an order that had stood for thousands of years.

Aramis reached a walkway that wound around an open courtyard. It was a smaller mirror to the grand hall at the Temple's entrance, many floors above. He peered around the corner and quickly withdrew. A Republic hover tank sat in the middle of the courtyard, its turret turning slowly as it scanned the walkway.

Aramis turned back, creeping slowly until he found Commander Yen near a reinforced security door. "There's a tank in the courtyard," he announced. "So the direct path to the hangars is cut off."

"They can watch the whole level from there," Kylta said. "Are you making any progress?"

Commander Yen was furiously rewiring the keypad to the security door. "They've reset the security passcodes," he said. "They must've done it at random from the security mainframe from the upper levels."

"Then how did you manage to open that first turbolift if they've reset the codes?" Akawa asked.

"That turbolift isn't listed as a security door. The Clones did a mass reset, but they missed doors on the lower uninhabited levels."

"Seems like a security hole," Akawa said, blinking her eyes quickly to signal sarcasm.

"It's impossible to secure a building as huge and old as this in only a day," Yen said, gritting his teeth. Finally his efforts paid off, and the door opened.

They entered the darkened room, which wasn't much larger than a closet. Yen sat at the controls and brought the holographic displays to life. His eyes went wide as he discovered an active alert. He brought the alert to the main screen, allowing the others to see it.

The holoscreen showed several squads of Clone Troopers firing at a target off screen. The troopers had barricaded themselves in front of the entrance to the archives. Suddenly one of the barricades lifted itself into the air and flew across the hall, sending the clones scattering. Two Jedi ran into the field of view, deflecting blaster bolts with effortless grace.

"It's Master Yoda and Master Kenobi," Kylta exclaimed.

"No wonder all the Clone Troopers have diverted to intercept them," Aramis said, smiling.

The Jedi Masters finished off the few remaining Clones. Obi Wan pressed the keypad that opened the archives, and faced the same alteration to the codes that Yen had discovered. But unlike Yen, who had been forced rewire controls the old fashioned way, they had lightsabers. Yoda plunged his shoto-style lightsaber into the locking mechanism and then shoved the heavy doors apart with the Force.

"I wish you could have done that," Akawa said, her eyes flicking rapidly.

"On to the task at hand…" Aramis said. "Can you open the doors between us and the hangar from here?"

"That I can," Yen nodded. "But I will have stay here. You'll have to go on without me so I can monitor the Clones positions." He handed Aramis a comlink. "I'll call you if trouble comes your way."

"Alright," Aramis nodded. "Let's go."

"You'll be alright by yourself?" Kylta asked Yen as the others exited the room.

"I'll call if anything comes up," Yen shrugged, an uneasy smile playing across his wizened face. Kylta looked unconvinced, but she turned away and caught up with the others.

It was easier going now. Aramis ran through the corridors, confident Yen would notify him if any troopers were lurking behind a corner. They found all of the blast doors open for them, and before long they had arrived on the walkway overlooking the hangar level.

They found it abandoned, just as every other part of the Temple was. The cavernous space was arranged like any typical hangar. The huge hangar blast doors hung open, showing off an expansive view of the city. Below them separate corridors large enough to fit heavy transports led off to both the left and right towards maintenance and repair facilities. Refueling facilities and the utility room were in the back, below the door that they had entered from.

Several Republic assault transports sat near the mouth of the hangar, and there were bodies of troopers and Temple personnel scattered about. Apparently the troopers had assaulted the hangar simultaneously to the attack on the main hall.

"Are those the transports you're looking for?" Akawa asked, nodding towards several nondescript freighters located near the side of the hangar.

"Let's check them out," Aramis said. There was no staircase leading to the main floor of the hangar. Instead a square freight platform, activated from a control panel, lowered them from the walkway to the floor. Aramis was the first to disembark, jumping off before the platform stopped moving.

He ran over to the first freighter, a boxy looking craft with thick landing legs and one engine mounted on a tail above the roof. He activated the ramp release latch, and the ramp hissed open, releasing hydraulic vapor as it went.

The interior of the freighter was half empty, most of its contents having already been moved to its destination. But he instantly recognized the crates that remained. They were identical to the ones inside Koruf's apartment. Aramis went to one of the crates just as Akawa and Kylta arrived on the freighter ramp.

"Don't forget those things are booby trapped," Kylta reminded him.

"Right," he nodded. He glanced around the freighter's cargo compartment, and then noticed some peculiar handheld scanners hanging from the ceiling. The scanner plate on each one was oversized and archaic looking. "I wonder what these are for," he said with a smile. He grabbed one of the scanners, sliding his hand underneath its strap.

The scanner came to life at his touch, a green light indicating it had awakened from sleep mode. Aramis bent down and placed the scanner above where he knew, from painful experience, where the explosive was installed. The scanner beeped happily and Aramis heard a small click echo from within the crate as it unlocked.

"I'll do the honors this time," Kylta said. She approached the crate, rubbed her hands together, and ripped the lid open. This time there was no explosion. Inside they found the same rubber mat that protected the crate's contents and an explosive stuck to the side of the crate.

Aramis bent over the side of the crate and ripped the mat aside. Underneath lay a dozen Jedi robes, utility belts, datacards, and a handful of lightsabers. "Jackpot," Kylta said.

"Let's check the other freighters," Aramis said. They went to the second ship, and found it to be nearly identical to the first. It too, had been half emptied, only the crates they were interested in remained. They went to the third ship, and found its cargo section nearly empty. There were only two crates in this one. "I think we can condense all of the cargo onto one transport," Aramis thought out loud.

"I'll go get some load lifters," Akawa volunteered. She ran off across the hangar and disappeared into the utility section.

"Well, we found what we came for," Kylta said as she leaned against the outer hull of the third transport.

"It doesn't feel like much," Aramis frowned. "The entire archives is back there…"  
"The three of us will never be able to move stuff from the archives to the hangar," Kylta reminded him. "We would need hover sleds, a bigger ship, enough time to get through the access locks...Oh, and I think the Clones would eventually figure out what we were up to."

Suddenly Aramis' comlink beeped. "Speaking of," he sighed. He activated the comlink and managed to speak before Yen got the chance. "We found the cargo. Akawa is grabbing a load lifter so we can move everything onto one ship."

"That's great, but you're about to have company," Yen stated. "The Clones have called in reinforcements to try and trap the Jedi Masters in the archive's security station. They've got assault transports inbound. Guess where they are landing?"

"Got it," Aramis said. "Thanks." He turned to Kylta. "We have to hide, now." He jumped from the freighter's loading ramp and together they sprinted across the hangar floor. Just as they reached the utility section they heard the sounds of transports inbound.

Akawa had found several load lifter droids and had already programmed them to move the containers with a datapad she found in an equipment locker. It was a simple matter to instruct the droids to do what they were built for. She jumped in surprise when she realized Aramis was furiously motioning for her to shut them down. She did so just as the first droid began to emerge out into the main hangar.

"Hide!" Aramis shouted as the Republic assault transports entered the hangar, threatening to drown out his voice in the roar of their engines. He ducked behind a storage locker to the left of the entry way, while Kylta hid behind fuel cell to the right of it. Akawa slid behind an inactive load lifter droid towards the rear of the room. The sound of engines died down, but was replaced by the noise of several squads of clone troopers disembarking from their transports.

"Squads one through three, on me," one of the clones shouted. "We'll hit them from behind as the other teams block off the main entrance. Squad four, secure the hangar." Aramis stood rigid against the wall as most of the troopers left the hangar. He tried to slow his breathing and become as quiet as possible, using the same breathing technique that was required to enter into meditation. He only hoped the thick hangar walls would disguise their energy signatures from the Clone's scanners.

"What are those lifters doing out?" a Clone asked, his filtered voice echoing across the hangar.

"I'll check it out," one of them volunteered. Aramis tightened his grip on his staff. He could hear the clone approaching. He frantically glanced around the room. It was impossible that trooper would not spot them.

Suddenly the sound of a blast door closing boomed across the hangar.

"Hey!" one of the troopers shouted. Aramis peered around the corner. A blast door across the hangar was closing, cutting off one of the maintenance wings. The squad was running over to the door, their blasters ready.

"Now," Aramis whispered over to Kylta. She nodded. Together they ran out onto the floor, all of the clones facing the other direction. He reached the first trooper before the clones realized they had company. He brought his staff up and kicked outwards, bringing his foot into the back of the the clone's knee and knocking his legs out from under him. Aramis brought the heavy end of his staff down onto the clone's helmet just as the unsuspecting trooper hit the ground. The helmet shattered into a thousand pieces which burst across the floor. Instantly the trooper was dead.

The next trooper turned at the sound of his fellow hitting the ground, but didn't have time to react any further. Kylta aimed a punch at the soldier's breastplate, which exploded into a shower of plastoid as if he had been hit with a blaster. The clone flew across the floor and slammed into the hull of one of the freighters.

Aramis had already moved onto the next trooper before Kylta's target was down. This one had enough to time to raise his blaster rifle and get off a shot, but not enough time to aim properly. Aramis ducked as the first shot went wide. He struck his staff against the clone's rifle, throwing off the aim of his next shot. He then rained a series of rapid blows upon the trooper, breaking bones and shattering armor with each strike.

Kylta jumped meters into the air, landing upon the next trooper's torso and taking him to the ground. A single punch into his helmet and he too was dead. Aramis spotted a trooper near one the assault transports raising his rifle towards Kylta. He dropped his staff and picked up the rifle of the trooper he had just disabled.

He fired just as the trooper did, striking him in the shoulder. The clone went down, but was attempting to get to his feet when Aramis fired a second shot, putting the clone down permanently. He turned to find Kylta bowled over, holding her head.

He began to run over to her when another shot rang out, this time from the other side of the hangar. A trooper fell from the load lifting platform, a smoking hole in his chestplate. Although the wound itself might not have been enough to finish him off, the crunching impact from the floor as he fell from the walkway did.

Aramis felt adrenaline rushing through his veins as he glanced around the hangar. Akawa emerged from the utility section, holding the blaster pistol she had used to strike down the last combatant. He quickly ran over to Kylta, who was attempting to get to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"He took off a few of my horns…" she gasped. Aramis glanced at her crown and noticed three of her cranial horns had been cut in half, melted cartilage slowly solidifying where the bolt had passed through. "It feels like my head is on fire."

"I'm guessing you've got a lot of nerves in there," Aramis frowned. "At least he didn't hit you in the head."

"I feel like that would've hurt a lot less…"

"Is she okay?" Akawa called as she hurried across the hangar.

"Yeah, I'll live," Kylta said, getting to her feet with Aramis' help. "But I don't think those will ever grow back.

"We need to get those crates moved to one of the freighters," Aramis said. "I think these guy's friends probably already know they got taken out. We won't have long."

"Right," Akawa nodded. She hurried off towards the utility room once again. A moment later the load lifter droids rumbled to life and began trundling across the hangar.

"I need to have a sit down," Kylta said.

"Inside one of the freighters," Aramis said, steering her slightly. He walked with her towards the second ship, and together they went up the loading ramp. He searched the ceiling until he found an emergency medical supplies box. He popped open the lid and tossed her a bottle of painkillers. "These should help."

"Thanks," she said as she tore off the lid and swallowed several of the pills.

"Aramis, you there?" came Ven's voice from the comlink.

"I'm here, we're inside one of the freighters."

"The rest of the troopers are circling back to the hangar. You're about to have more company. There are also more clones arriving at the main entrance."

"What about the Jedi?"

"They were inside the security mainframe, no camera access to that room from here. I don't know what they did in there, but now they are headed out. They're moving up the main corridor."

"On the complete other side of the temple…"

"Yeah, and one other thing."

What's that?" Aramis asked, picking up something odd in Yen's voice.

"I'm cut off from the hangar. My trick with the blast door, to distract the troopers while you surprised them? It outed my position. They're checking all of the security stations."

"Commander, you need to move," Aramis said.

"Yes, but not in your direction. I need to divert as many of them as possible."

"Commander…"

"Just focus on the task at hand. You don't have long before those other squads show up."

Aramis sighed heavily. "Right...we won't fail." The comlink beeped. Yen had shut down the connection from his end. He exited the freighter and shouted "Akawa!" across the hangar. "Can you fly one of those?" he asked, pointed towards one of the assault ships.

She stood with her hands on her hips, watching as the load lifters began transferring crates. She looked towards the assault transport and nodded.

"Get airborne, we're going to need some fire support. And tell the load lifters to put the crates on this ship."

"Got it," she shouted back. Aramis moved back into the freighter and took the pilot's chair. Kylta already sat in the co-pilot's seat, her hand covering her eyes.

"It sounds like you have a plan," she said, her voice slightly weak.

"Calling it a plan is probably a bit generous," Aramis said. He began flipping switches, activating the freighters engine. He felt the weight of the craft shift as a load lifter began placing crates in the back. Outside the ship's forward viewport he watched as Akaway took control of one of the assault transports, lifting the gunship into the air. She rotated her ship, the rockets and forwards cannons coming online. Now she could only wait for the clones to arrive.

Commander Yen crept through the halls of the Jedi Temple. He moved away from the hangar level, towards the central courtyard and the hover tank that he knew still sat there. He had successfully avoided the three squads of troopers that had arrived from the hangar. They had doubled back and would soon be engaging his young prodigies. There was nothing he could do to stop that. But he could stop further reinforcements from heading in that direction. To do that, he needed chaos.

He arrived at the final corridor that led to the courtyard. He crept along with his back to the wall until he reached the last corner. Even from tens of meters away he could hear the tank's engines humming and reverberating through the building. He raised his comlink.

"Security station delta-three-one," he called, activating the automated functions he had set up before departing. "Activate command four, lower dormitory level, main courtyard." The comlink beeped affirmatively.

Suddenly the lights in the courtyard went out. The fire alarms, deactivated during the clone's initial assault of the Temple, came to life. Sirens blared and fire extinguishers began shooting plumes of depressant into the courtyard. Yen bounced around the corner and ran full speed towards the tank.

It's operators had frozen in confusion, and didn't realize he was running towards them until it was too late. He jumped onto the front of the tank just as its forward cannons rotated towards him. They fired but he had already landed upon the front of the vehicle. The shots blasted apart columns behind them in fiery showers of rock and metal.

Yen moved up the tank and landed atop the main turret. The clone inside spun the cannon, attempting to shake him off, but he grabbed the handle on the turret's entry hatch and held on tight. The hatch was locked from the inside, preventing him from simply ripping it open.

Yen closed his eyes and tried to focus on the Force. He felt it, but it was hazy and indistinct, just as it was to all those who were not powerful enough to become full Jedi. The tank's security system activated, sending arcs of blue energy into his body from the hatch. He gritted his teeth and allowed the pain to flow through him. Although he could not control the Force, he could allow it to control him.

Smoke rose from his body as he clamped his other hand onto the main turret. He willed the electricity to flow through him and into the cannon's acceleration capacitors. They overloaded, sending a plume of black smoke streaming out of the turret. The security system shorted out, and the energy assaulting his body faded. But, as blood dripped out of his mouth, nostrils, and ears, he knew that a lot of damage had been done. He closed his eyes and tried to strengthen his connection to the Force.

The hatch unlocked and swung open, allowing the smoke filling the interior of the tank to escape. A clone tank commander emerged, holding a small blaster pistol. The commander took aim at Yen but he reacted instantly, even as his eyes were still closed. He grabbed the commander by the throat, gripping tightly beneath the clone's helmet. He tightened his grip, collapsing the clone's air passages. He bent over the open hatch, grabbed the dead soldier by his breastplate, and tossed him over the side of the turret.

Yen jumped inside the tank, landing on top of one of the other crewmen and sending him to the floor. The third clone, the pilot, aimed a blaster pistol and fired, sinking a shot into Yen's upper chest. He cried out in pain but didn't hesitate, grabbing the clone's pistol just as the second shot missed and struck the other clone in the back. He headbutted the clone, knocking him backwards and into the tank's controls. The tank surged forward and struck a support column in the inner wall of the courtyard. Cracks formed in the column, but it held steady.

The clone tried to fight back but Yen easily overpowered him, holding him down with one hand and landing punch after punch into his visor. He couldn't strike as hard as Kylta, but eventually the clone stopped moving. Yen allowed the clone to slump down and fall into unconsciousness on the tank's floor.

He closed his eyes, suddenly aware of all the blood he had lost. He felt woozy, like he was about to pass out at any moment. But he couldn't allow himself to die. Not yet. He reached up and switched the tank's comm settings, allowing chatter to play out of the vehicle's internal speakers.

"501st e-division, form up along the main stairwell," a clone general was saying. "The Jedi are headed east, try to cut them off as f-division slows them down." Yen activated the tank's controls, backing it away from the support column and turning towards the main stairwell.

"Tank alpha-b13, the security network is showing the alarms on your level going haywire. What's going on down there?"

Yen activated the comm. "This is tank alpha-b13." He didn't bother trying to disguise his voice, which was thick with blood. "I'm afraid the crew is dead. Why don't you come down and join them."

"All units, the comms are compromised. Switch to verbal commands until we isolate his frequency," the general ordered. The comm went silent.

Yen steered his tank towards the main stairwell, clumsily knocking into and demolishing a fountain. He could barely see the controls in front of him, much less the terrain around his tank. He fumbled for the forward guns and began firing at random up the stairwell. Blaster bolts came streaming down at him, bouncing against the tank's armor. He ran into the wall, tearing a huge chunk out the duracrete. He glanced up as an automatic alarm screamed at him. Armor piercing rockets were inbound. The tank insides of the tank exploded into a shower of molten durasteel. The power banks short circuited and burst into a ball of energy. Commander Yen was gone.


	5. Order 66: Part V

**Chapter Five**

The wall above the hangar walkway exploded in a torrent of debris. Akawa showered the entrance to the hangar in blaster fire, annihilating the first wave of troopers who streamed in. She kept her assault transport in a hover, drifting above the hangar floor.

Aramis watched from the freighter's bridge compartment, the ship vibrating slightly as its engines powered on. A light flashed on the control console, indicating an incoming shortbeam message.

He hesitated for a moment, fearing it could be the clones attempting trick someone into responding and giving away their position. But, after a moment, he figured the clones had enough to worry about with Akawa raining death on them from above. He flipped the comm switch and activated a channel.

"This is Akawa, can you hear me?" came the Mon Calamari's voice.

"Yeah, I read you," Aramis answered, closing his eyes in relief. His comlink, which he had sat atop the freighters control console, suddenly gave off a burst of static. He had left the channel with Commander Yen open. As the static faded he felt an odd sensation rise into chest. He felt like something that he hadn't even noticed was there, had suddenly vanished.

"I think they've taken out Commander Yen...he broadcast through their own comm channels...apparently he had commandeered a tank. The chatter on the comms has gone silent, I think they are switching to unknown channels."

In the pit of his stomach he knew that Akawa was correct. Commander Yen was dead. "Alright…" he said, leaning over his console. "We need to get out of here." He glanced over at Kylta, who sat in the co-pilots chair. She had fallen asleep under the influence of the painkillers she had taken.

"Affirmative," Akawa agreed. "But we got a problem...the clones are pulling back and I'm scanning through the sensors. They have v-wings inbound. You'll get shot you down the moment you exit the hangar."

Aramis could only think of one way out, and unfortunately he knew he would be ordering Akawa to her death. Before he could speak she beat him to it.

"I'm going to have head out first in the gunship," she said. "I can move pretty good through the city in this thing, those interceptors will have trouble if I stay low."

"Akawa, you don't have a hyperdrive on that thing…"

"I'm aware of that," she said. "I'll head north and buzz the Senate. You head in the opposite direction and don't head spaceward until your out of the Federal District."

"Okay," Aramis agreed. "Good luck. May the Force be with you."

"Yeah, alright," Akawa replied. He could practically see her blinking sarcastically through the comm. He turned around in his seat as the last crate was loaded into the cargo bay by the load lifters. He flipped a switch, raising the loading ramp.

Aramis lifted the freighter off the floor of the hangar. He found the controls stiff and the ship's manoeuvring thrusters to be sluggish, but the ship felt solid and tough. Akawa's gunship fired one last steam of blaster fire towards the walkway and then slid her transport backwards and out of the hangar. She wobbled her wings in a sign of respect, turned, and then roared away. Aramis followed, slowly bringing the ship out of the hangar. He could fly, but he wasn't nearly as skilled as the Akawa, especially with such a clumsy vessel.

He manoeuvred into the open air and rotated his ship, gaining a view of the outside of the Jedi Temple. Smoke and fire was once again streaming from the structure's roof, likely due in large part to Commander Yen and Akawa's efforts.

He dropped his altitude until he disappeared below the street level. There was no traffic, which would have been unusual on an ordinary day. The no fly zone around the temple was clearly still in effect. He continued to descend until reached the canyon-like neighborhood that they had stayed in mere hours earlier. It already felt like an eternity ago.

He powered up the thrusters and began to move down the space between the city blocks. Overhead the howling scream of v-wings reverberated downwards, bouncing back and forth between the buildings like an endless rumble. Kylta began to stir as they reached the edge of the temple district.

"Hey," Aramis said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone repeatedly beat me in the head with a training saber," she answered wearily. "Where are we?"

"Outside of the temple. Trying to get as far away as possible before making it to space."

She glanced around the freighter. "Akawa and Commander Yen?"

"Yen is dead," Aramis began. "Akawa took one of the gunships and is creating a distraction for us. Nobody is going to notice a missing freighter while a stolen gunship is on the lam."

"Yen is gone?" she repeated. "How?"

"I...I don't know for sure. Akawa said he commandeered a tank and then...I don't know. I think I felt him go through the Force."

"I didn't get to say goodbye," she said, tears forming in her eyes. "For some reason I thought he would find a way to get back 'round to us."

"Yeah. Me too." Aramis kept the ship running slowly. Finally he noticed the shadows of ships flitting above them. He pulled back on the control stick and rejoined the normal flow of traffic. They would actually be less noticeable joining the other ships than if they continued flying alone through the under levels. Traffic was slower than normal.

Kylta activated the radio on the comm and scanned through public frequencies.

"...public alert has been extended," a monotone voice said before repeating the phrase in dozens of languages. It was a moment before the alert recycled to Basic and they could hear it from the beginning. "The no-fly zone around the Temple and Senate districts has been extended until further notice. A general alert for the entire Western Zone has been enacted. All unnecessary traffic should remain grounded until further notice. Hover-rail service in all security zones has been terminated. The general public alert has been extended."

"How long do think we have until the 501st notifies local security to look out for a stolen freighter?" Kylta asked.

"No idea," Aramis shrugged. The emerged from the shadow of the Federal District. Above them, for a brief moment, they could make out stars. And then they went through a tunnel and remerged in the CoCo district.

The translation of the general alert was suddenly interrupted by a new message. "All air traffic has been suspended for Boribos Prefecture and Skyroute D25D. All air traffic must land immediately." The new alert began to cycle through translations.

"She's moving north…" Kylta realized. There were now three districts separating them.

"Now is as good a time as any. If they ground all traffic across the Western Zone we might not ever leave," Aramis said. He pulled his controls back, tilting the nose of the ship upwards. He punched the accelerator forward and burned upwards through the atmosphere.

"This is Coruscant Western Zone Traffic Authority. Unidentified freighter, you do not have clearance for an exit vector. Please respond immediately," came a voice through their comm.

Aramis ignored him, continuing his upwards burn. He glanced at his sensors. The general alert had resulted in light traffic. Normally, a random shot to space like this would result in colliding with another ship...there was simply too much traffic to exit the atmosphere like one would on countless other worlds. But today his scanners showed a clear vector.

"Unidentified freighter, if you do not halt your current course and respond immediately you will be flagged. There is a general alert. Sector Triple Zero defense is authorized to shoot you down if you do not cease and desist immediately."

"I'll get started on hyperspace calculations," Kylta stated. "Any destinations in mind?"

"Anywhere that isn't Coruscant. A random spot in space will do until we figure things out." They finally emerged from Coruscant's atmosphere. Debris from the Battle of Coruscant still hung in orbit around the galactic capital, bits of Separatist and Republic warships alike drifting like a flying graveyard.

A sensor warning popped up on the center console. A squadron of V-Wings was moving on an intercept course, although the speedy fighters would have to orbit halfway around the planet in order to catch them. Up ahead another alert revealed the presence of three Arc-170 fighter bombers, but the slower craft were far out of firing range.

"I've got a route that will take us up the Hydian Way. I can take us out early so we can avoid the security checkpoints at Brentaal," Kylta said.

"Sounds good," Aramis nodded. The alert on his forward scanners suddenly turned red. One of the Arc-170s entered firing range had launched a proton torpedo. They had thirty seconds before the freighter's meager shields would be burst like a soap bubble. Aramis flipped a lever, activated the hyperdrive, and their ship vanished into hyperspace. The torpedo shot through the empty space they had just occupied, continued to fly onwards, and then struck a disabled _Providence-class_ cruiser.

oOoOo

Aramis sat atop one of the crates, watching as Kylta rummaged through the others, checking their contents. It had been several days since their escape from Coruscant. They had bypassed Brentaal by emerging from hyperspace early and venturing galactic north through a circuitous route that took them far from the busier space lanes.

Aramis held a datapad in his hand, a datacard from one of the crates inserted in the top.

"Anything interesting on there?" Kylta asked. Aramis had been in a daze ever since Coruscant, while Kylta seemed to be carrying on like normal. He knew that she was disguising her pain...both physical and emotional. He admired her resilience...he only hoped she wasn't bottling her emotions inside of her being.

"A bunch of communications logs from Jedi fighting in the Outer Rim Sieges. If need help falling asleep, I recommend reading through it."

"I would love to fall asleep but, as you can see we, don't have a bed on this piece of junk. I figure there are at least two to three lightsabers in each crate. The crystals inside of them are valuable enough that some will be looking for this stuff, even if the rest is mostly junk."

"True," Aramis nodded. He thought about grabbing some food, but remembered they barely had any left. "The emergency rations aren't going to last much longer," Aramis sighed. "We're going to have to land somewhere soon."

"But where though? It has to be a planet outside of Republic...I mean Imperial...control."

"But we also need some place that can be found by others. If our only goal was keeping this stuff out of the hands of Palpatine we should offload them at the nearest black hole," Aramis said, placing the datapad on top of the crate.

"Then we are in the preservation business," Kylta agreed. "So...someplace that someone wanting to learn about the Jedi would look, but not someplace the Empire would know to search."

"That rules out places like Jedha...I'm sure the first place the Empire will search for Jedi that have escaped would be worlds where the Church of the Force is active."

"Shall we consult whatever meager star charts are this flying box?" Kylta asked, making for the bridge section. She took the copilots seat and Aramis took the pilot's chair next to her. The freighter's chart was surprisingly detailed. Apparently Koruf's company, Hydian Way Lines, had ambitions to serve the entire galaxy.

They immediately discounted worlds that had recently been home to active Jedi enclaves. Places like Devaron, Ilum, Lothal, and Vrogas Vas. Likewise they ruled out worlds with active temples belonging to the Church of the Force.

"So...on to worlds with pasts linked to the Jedi, but no recent activity. I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention during history class," Kylta said.

"I did," Aramis said. He typed into the navicomputer and brought up a new lists of worlds. "Alright. Nobody knows where Ach-To is, that isn't on the list. Tython is nearly impossible to get to, and that's with a decent ship and no one trying to hunt you down. Same for Ruusan. Chandrila is too close to Coruscant."

"What about Ossus?" Kylta suggested.

"It's good, but on the other side of the galaxy. That leaves...Dantooine." He brought up images of the planet, which offered expansive vistas filled with grasslands and rolling hills. "Only a couple sectors away."

"Well, at least we'll be able to stretch our legs once we get there," Kylta said, sighing.

oOoOo

Aramis pushed against a circular stone door, straining against its immense weight. Kylta joined him and together they were able to shift it into its rung, sealing off the chamber. A wave of dust reacted, rolling around them in the narrow corridor.

"That should do it," she said, wiping her hands off on her pants. Together they exited the corridor, emerging into the bright sunshine of Dantooine's expansive landscape. Aramis had spent the entirety off his life living on Coruscant, in and around the Jedi temple. The lack of cityscape crowding out the horizon unnerved him, as if Dantooine's beautiful fields were about to suck him into a vacuum.

Kylta sat in the dirt next to the entrance to the tunnel, which was, as far as they could tell, an ancient farmstead. The Jedi Order had once had a temple on Dantooine, rivalling Coruscant's in size, but it had fallen into ruins after the ancient wars with the Sith. It was the location of the ancient temple which had drawn them to hide their stash here, although hiding it in the temple grounds itself would have been too obvious. If they knew about the Temple, the Empire would too.

"What now?" Aramis asked, taking a seat next to Kylta on the ground near the tunnel entrance.

"I don't know...I wish Commander Yen were here," she began. "He'd probably have a plan."

"Even he didn't know what to do when the Order fell. I doubt he would've have any more answers than we do," Aramis said. "We could go join the Church of the Force. Or the Guardians of the Whills."

"How long do think until the Empire attacks them as well? It's the most natural place for Jedi who escaped the purge, and people like us, to run to."

"True." A light breeze blew over them, carrying the scent of pollen. Aramis sneezed loudly, causing Kylta to wrinkle her nose at him. "But I can't stay here...I think I'm allergic to all this…"

"Nature?" she asked, laughing.

"Yeah, that. It's awful," he managed to say while attempting to suppress another sneeze. They sat there for awhile in silence, watching the wind push the fields of tallgrass in waves that seemed to flow like water. It was completely alien to Aramis, who hadn't seen a single blade of wild grass before, let alone an endless expanse of it.

"Well, I think I'm going to visit Iridonia for awhile, I haven't been to my homeworld since I was a little girl." Kylta glanced at him, her remaining cranial horns glistening brightly in the sunlight. "You can come with me if you want."

Aramis held his forearm against his nose, attempting to block any further invasions into his body by the villainous spores. "I don't know if I would blend in there very well. I don't know of any dark blue Zabraks."

"Well, if Darth Maul could dye himself red we could probably dye you brown. Maybe glue some horns on top of that bald head of yours."

Aramis faked a smile so that her attempt at humour wouldn't seem unappreciated, but he didn't feel particularly cheerful.

"If you really want to blend in and disappear you could probably pass as a Pantoran, or maybe a Zeltron with a skin condition," Kylta said. "Honestly, I don't think we are very high on the Empire's list. I doubt Darth Vader will cross the galaxy for a couple of failed Jedi."

"He might if he knew what we stole from the temple," Aramis said, motioning back towards the tunnel. "This place won't be safe forever. We need to find something better, eventually."

"Is that what you're going to do, look for a better world?"

"It's something to do, anyway." Aramis stood and stared across the plains that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. He closed his eyes, testing his connection to the Force. The absence of a trillion beings living around him seemed to make the task easier. "I convinced Yen that we had to break into the Temple. If we had only just tried to get off the planet, we all probably would have made it."

"Yeah. But Yen agreed with you. You didn't coerce him into anything. He died fighting to protect what he lived his whole life serving."

"I know. That's why I can't just go into hiding and try to start a new life. I'm not done fighting for my old one."

Kylta stood as well. "I would be there fighting right alongside you. But I don't know how we do that. We can't topple a galaxy wide government, just the two of us."

"No," Aramis agreed, "but the light side of the Force won't be suppressed forever. When the Jedi, or whatever group replaces them, overthrow the dark, they'll need to rebuild. If we can keep this collection safe, and add to it, they won't have to rebuild from scratch."

"It sounds like you've found your mission," Kylta said with a smile. "Want to head back now?"

"Yeah, we shouldn't linger." Together they walked down the short hill and into the fields, the waist high tallgrass blowing around them like water. They slowly trekked towards their ship, which lay hidden in a shallow valley to the south. The wind blew their cloaks around them, and they could hear birds singing in the distance...when Aramis wasn't sneezing.


	6. Malastare: Part I

**Chapter Six**

The cantina on the bottom floor of the tavern was teeming. Aramis squeezed his way through the crowd and towards the bar. He wore a nondescript grey flight suit, which had come with the transport he had bought. He had used his half of the credits he had split with Kylta after they had sold the freighter they'd stolen from the Jedi Temple. He felt extremely lucky that the flight suit had fit, but perhaps that was the Force showing him he had made the right decision in not going with Kylta back to her homeworld.

He had bought the cheapest ship he could find on Dantooine, a tiny twin engine Incom transport that didn't consist of much more than a bridge section in the front and a tiny cargo section in the back that wasn't much larger than a closet. The fold-out bunk in the back was just long enough that only his feet hung over the edge when he slept. What few belongings he owned could be stored in the overhead lockers. The refresher folded out from the wall, and there was no mirror or sink. But the ship had a hyperdrive, and it's background was squeaky clean. The rest of his credits, all eight thousand of them, he hid under the floor beneath the flight chair, along with a single lightsaber he had kept from their collection.

Those eight thousand credits wouldn't last very long, especially in a universe where his name was likely on every Imperial watch list. He needed money coming in or he wouldn't be able to feed himself and fuel his ship, much less launch a campaign to save the legacy of the Jedi. Which was what had brought him to this inn on Malastare.

The room was filled with a diverse crowd, although Dugs and Gran, the native species, made up the majority. Aramis' nostrils were assaulted by the smell of alcohol and the sweat of the beings pressing in around him, interrupted briefly by the sweet smell of a twi'lek who brushed up against him as she passed, carrying a pair of mugs. He made his way to the bar, where a dozen beings stood enthralled with a podrace on the holoscreens.

He squeezed between a Dug and a Gran saddled up at the bar. This inn was one of many in the spaceport of Pixelito, one of the major cities on Malastare. He had chosen this Mid Rim world as his first destination for multiple reasons. First, it was on nearly the opposite side of the galaxy as Dantooine. If the Imperials somehow caught him there would be no way for them to guess which world he and Kilta had stashed their liberated goods on. Secondly, it was a highly populated world, right in the middle of a major hyperspace route. If he was looking for opportunities to make credits, he couldn't stick around half empty worlds like Dantooine. And lastly, although Malastare was a prominent world, it was far enough away from the Core that he could walk down the streets without having to watch for Imperial troops everywhere he went. True...Malastare was part of the Empire, just like most of the galaxy now that the Clone Wars were officially over. But Palpatine's troops were still stretched too thinly to have a major presence on every world.

He caught the attention of the bartender, a portly Bith with two pairs of cybernetic attachments at his back. The attachments were spider like arms that could pour drinks and hand them to customers while the pale, bulbous-headed bartender engaged the next customer. It was impressive tech, and Aramis wondered how a lowly bartender could afford something like that.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"Can you make a meiloorun nutrijuice?" Aramis requested. The bartender paused, and probably would have raised an eyebrow if he had any. "With a dash of Corellian vodka," he added, which seemed to be more in line with expectations. The Bith nodded and moved onto the next customer while two of his arms went to work on his drink.

A sudden wave of shouting erupted around him. Aramis jumped, jerking around towards the door, expecting a wave of clone troopers to be stampeding in. He relaxed when he realized that the podrace had just ended, a close one where two racers had crossed the finish line at nearly the same time.

The Gran next to him slapped him on the back. "You look like you just lost money, meeshku." The gran's hand lingered on his back, a light caress.

"I didn't bet money on the races," Aramis said.

"Everyone comes here for the races," the Gran said, eyeing him curiously. The alien's hand was still on his back, and Aramis wondered if he was drunk. "What brings you to Malastare all the way from...Pantora, right?"

"That's right," Aramis nodded. "But I'm here by way of Corellia." He received his drink, and took a sip, finding that the bartender had thankfully not put a very strong shot of vodka in it. "I'm looking for work."

"There's a lot doing that, especially from the Outer Rim now that the war's stopped. Malastare has got work, but not enough for everybody," the Gran said. "You got any special skills?" The Gran's hand began to go a bit lower down his back, forcing Aramis to finally shrug him off. The Gran's orange face flushed pink, for a moment, in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"No problem," Aramis lied with a smile. The podrace vanished from the screens and a new local broadcast began. This one was from an arena on the other side of the spaceport. The screen showed a flat circular stage, which a white line running along the edge. Men and women of various species stood on the stage, stretching and swinging primitive weapons.

"Do you have any special skills?" the Gran asked. Aramis glanced over but quickly returned his gaze to the holoscreen, where an announcer appeared. The announcer began to speak about the ceremonial beginning of a combat tournament, which was about to start.

"Excuse me?" Aramis asked as the Gran continued to gaze at him expectantly.

"Sorry," the Gran shook his head. "You said you were looking for work, I was only asking if you had any special skills. Someone big and strong like yourself…"

Aramis ignored the implied sexual attraction. "I have experience with security work. Do you know anyone who's hiring?"

The Gran glanced backwards at the crowd of beings around them. "Everyone needs security now, with all the immigrants coming in." His eyes narrowed in vague suspicion at those around him, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had been hitting on a refugee before his very eyes. "I work for Malastare Medical Corp, we just had one of our clinics hit. They lifted all of the bacta. We had to reorder hundreds of liters."

"Can you put in a word for me?" Aramis asked, placing his own hand on the Gran's back, causing the alien to flush. He didn't mind exploiting him if it could keep him from going broke. "My name is Ara...Arayen."

"Arayen," the Gran repeated. "Yeah, I'll let them know. Oh, I'm Jor'ja Aska." Aramis paused at the name, trying to remember his galactic etymology. _Was Jor'ja a male or female name?_

"Thanks, Jor'ja," he nodded. The announcer disappeared from the holoscreen and a series of pyrotechnic displays erupted from around the stage. After the smoke cleared the two fighters emerged from beneath the stands. One was a human, the other a Gran.

"The opening match to kick off this year's Pixelito Combat Festival features last year's champion, Leehal Jak, against a local favorite, Ask Ahal Loa," the announcer revealed. Aramis watched carefully as Leehal, a dark skinned human who appeared to be in his late twenties, waved to the crowd, receiving boos in return. Loa waved as well, turning the booing into an eruption of applause.

"The opening round will be hand-to-hand combat," the announcer said. The two combatants took their positions in the center of the circle and bowed respectfully to another. A bell was rung and Loa quickly ran towards Jak.

Loa opened the bout with a series of quick jabs towards the human's face. Jak took a step back, staying just out of reach. Loa stepped in with a left hook, too close and quick for Jak to get out of the way. Instead he slapped the gran's hand, turning it into a deflecting blow that had hardly any force to it. The gran responded with a right kick, aiming towards Jak's midsection, but he raised his own leg, taking the blow to his shin.

Aramis frowned as he watched the fight, finding something odd with the human's combat style. It looked eerily familiar. Jak never counter punched, despite several obvious openings appearing in the Gran's offense. And he never went on the offensive himself, turning every blow that he couldn't dodge into a glancing hit. _It's almost like he is using the second lightsaber form, Soresu, adapted for hand-to-hand combat._

Jak's strategy was clearly to stay defensive and let his opponent tire out, although Aramis felt that passing up openings was extremely overconfident. Loa was clearly growing frustrated and gave up his quick paced attack, opting instead for powerful blows that Jak wouldn't be able to deflect. But Jak responded as well.

Loa aimed a powerful kick towards Jak's ribcage but the human answered with a powerful kick of his own, aiming for the Gran's knee. Loa's leg went out from underneath him and he crumbled to the floor. The crowd gasped but their champion got back to his feet, with Jak declining to follow up on his vulnerability. The human went back into a defensive posture.

Loa slapped his knee, knocking some feeling back into it, and then went back on the offensive. He feigned with a quick jab, and followed it up a kick towards Jak's knee, in an apparent attempt at retaliation. Jak dodged the jab, moving out of the way before it was even coming towards him. He took Loa's kick to the side of his thigh, but landed a left hook an instant later, sending the Gran stumbling backwards.

 _This isn't the second form anymore...its form five, Djem So._ _Aggressive defense followed by powerful counter-attacks,_ Aramis thought to himself.

Loa recovered and abandoned caution. He ran directly at Jak, attempting to tackle the human to the ground. The human dodged to the side, long before the Loa could bring his shoulder into him. Loa turned his forward momentum into a spin, and then into a graceful roundhouse kick, aiming to catch Jak in the back of the head. But Jak, without looking, ducked underneath the kick. He spun and aimed a light kick of his own at Loa as the Gran returned to a stable position. Loa went to block the kick with his knee but discovered that the kick was a feint much too late. His three eyes widened as Jak put a powerful punch directly into his duck-like jaw. Loa fell backwards like he had been hit with a stun blast, falling onto his back in the center of the ring. The fight was over.

Cries of disgust erupted from the crowd in the arena, and from the crowd of beings surrounding Aramis in the tavern.

"I knew Loa didn't stand a chance," Jor'ja sighed.

"It wasn't a fair fight," Aramis responded, still watching as Jak bent down to check on his opponent. Loa seemed groggy, but managed to sit upright as medical droids floated in from the locker room.

"You think it was fixed?" Jor'ja asked angrily, apparently taking offense. "This is Malastare, not some Hutt world. We don't fix fights, or podraces either."

"I didn't mean it was fixed, just that it wasn't...an even matchup. Loa did the best he could against an unbeatable opponent."

"Oh, Leehal Jak has lost matches before. He won the tournament last year, true, but he's lost matches in the round robin stage."

 _The matches that don't matter,_ Aramis thought. "When does the rest of the tournament start?"

"It doesn't start until next week. This fight was just to give everyone a taste before the open registration ends, to drum up excitement."

"Anyone can enter?" Aramis asked. "Is there an entry fee?"

"Five hundred credits. You get it back if you qualify for the elimination stages, and twenty five thousand goes to the winner. Why, you thinking on entering?" Jor'ja asked, laughing. "You're big and strong, sure. You might know how to fight. But not like them."

"We'll see," Aramis said, finishing off the last of his juice. He slapped a few credits onto the bar, which were immediately scooped up by one of the bartender's mechanical arms. _I can afford five hundred credits._

oOoOo

Aramis stood facing towards the front of the clinic. It was late in the day and most of the appointments had already occurred. The clinic was a three story building on the east side of Port Pixelito, near the border between the business district and the slums. The white structure stood out amongst its neighbors, which consisted of a used speeder lot and a multi-story supermarket. It was urban, but not the kind that Aramis was used to. Here there was solid ground beneath your feet and open skies above, even if the air quality wasn't great.

The clinic was owned by Malastare Medical Corp., a conglomerate that specialized in medical research on non-human populations. Although it sounded nefarious, it fulfilled an extremely valuable niche. There were an uncountable number of species across the galaxy, and bacta treatment was just about the only form of medicine that was universal. If bacta didn't treat what ailed you, and you weren't human, you needed a specialist, and that's where Malastare Medical Corp. came in.

To his surprise Jor'ja's lead on a job had come through. The Gran had apologized profusely for his behavior when he had contacted him via comlink the next morning.

"I had been drinking heavily, it was the anniversary of my mother's death, she would be ashamed if she knew what I had been doing," he had said. Aramis had eventually confirmed Jor'ja's gender, although it really made no difference to him. He wasn't really consoled by the Gran's excuses...grief was no excuse for inexcusable behavior. But...he did need a job and so he had given him his forgiveness, whether he meant it or not.

Three days later Aramis was nearing his first paycheck. He had just paid his entry fee into the combat festival, and would soon be staring down another payment to the spaceport to keep his docking bay berth. Paying for the berth was incredibly more expensive than if he found some cheap apartment somewhere, but he wasn't willing to give up his ship.

The front door to the clinic slid open, and Aramis's eye's widened as a rutian Twi'lek woman entered. For a moment he thought she might be Jedi Master Aayla Secura, but no, she had been confirmed killed in the Emperor's purge. This Twi'lek wore a thick fur coat over her shoulders and aurodium bracelets on each wrist. She wore a black unibody pantsuit, which fit tightly against her skin and exposed her midriff.

Her eyes widened as well when she noticed him. "Well, hello," she said, her basic featuring a heavy rylothian accent. "I don't think I've ever met a pantoran before. Are you new here?"

"Yeah. Just started a few days ago."

"You're an upgrade. The last guard on evening detail was an obnoxious human from Eraidu. They think they're from the core, but they aren't fooling anyone."

"That's why they adopted the fake accent," Aramis agreed, letting his natural core accent out a little more.

"That's right," she smiled. She stepped a little closer, gaining a better look at him, her eyes squinting slightly. It was then that Aramis noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She was sick. _Of course she is, she's going to a clinic,_ he thought inwardly.

Movement from the hall diverted their attention from each other. A Mon Calamari doctor emerged into the waiting room. Aramis recognized Doctor Hilgral, who had a prosthetic arm which she had outfitted with numerous medical instruments. Unlike most doctors she didn't need a medical droid in order to perform an examination.

"Miss Uraala, it's nice to see you again," Hilgral said, nodding in her species' approximation of a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Ship shape doc," Uraala smiled, her lekku twitching slightly.

"You can head back now. We've got your bath ready," Hilgal said. "Arayen, you can lock up and head home," she added, using the hasty alias he had given Jor'ja and been forced to stick with ever since. "Miss Uraala is our last patient for the day."

Aramis went to the front door and waved a security card from his pocket in front of its sensor. The door buzzed and two heavy blast doors slammed shut.

"Are you leaving?" Uraala asked in mock sadness. "Why not let him come back and join us?"

"Um...ma'am, Arayen is not a medical professional. He's a security guard," Hilgral said, her barabels twitching nervously.

"Obviously," she said, eyeing Aramis. "I don't care," she shrugged. "I don't like taking the bath alone.

"That's against policy," Aramis shook his head. Despite having the job handed to him after going through mild sexual harassment, he had studied the clinic's policy handbook. After working in the Jedi Temple Security Force and training under Commander Yen, he had become a fan of rules.

"Uraala, head back. Arayen will accompany you," Hilgal said reluctantly. The Twi'lek smiled mischievously at Aramis and headed down the hall.

"I really shouldn't do this," Aramis said as Hilgal approached him. Years of Jedi rules were bouncing in his head, and gone though the Jedi may be, he hadn't quite abandoned their ways.

"She, and her family, are very wealthy donors to Malastare Medical. We will do whatever she asks," Hilgal said, placing her non-prosthetic arm on his back. He watched as an instrument on her prosthetic arm twirled. He wondered if she was scanning him. He also wondered if she knew he wasn't a Pantoran.

"Alright," he finally gave in. He would do what he had to. The universe was no longer safe for Jedi idealism. He followed Hilgal through the hall and into the deeper recess of the clinic. She came to a security door, similar to the blast door at the front door of the clinic, and waved her security card in front of it.

"Wait in here," she ordered. Aramis entered the room and the security door closed behind him. The room was about the same size as the waiting room, but much nicer. The walls were a soothing light blue color, and the floor a soft spongy material he couldn't recognize. There were colorful flowers placed in the corners and incense burners hung from the ceiling. The room would have reminded him of meditation chamber in the Jedi Temple, were it not for the pool at its center.

The pool was not deep, probably barely knee high if he were to stand in it. Medical instruments lined the white rim, lights flitting on and off and scanners beeping softly. The pool was empty, although several holes in the inside indicated how it would be filled.

Another door, which blended seamlessly with the wall, opened behind him. Uraala entered the room, wearing now only a nerf fur bathrobe.

"Arayen," she said, a mischievous smile returning to her face. Her eyes stared into his, an inner light shining through despite her illness. Hilgal followed, her eyes buried in a datapad.

"We are going to have to concentrate the dosage," the Mon Calamari said, continuing a conversation that Aramis had missed the beginning of. From the way she worriedly gazed at her datapad he took it whatever exam she had given Uraala had gone badly.

"Do whatever you want," Uraala sighed. She shed her robe, without modesty, and got into the tub. "Don't avert your gaze Arayen, I didn't ask you to join me so you could stand like a tree in the corner."

Aramis obeyed, and watched her as she lay down in the liquid and turned to face him. She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. But gazing at her broke his heart. Her body was covered in mottled flesh, dark purple blotches that otherwise marred her flawless skin.

Hilgal bent down and activated the pool. It hummed to life, lights flashing in quick succession. The vents opened and a silvery liquid began to fill the pool. The smell of bacta hit his nostrils, followed by an odd sensation at the back of his head that had nothing to do with the way Uraala gazed at him as she lay facing him.

As the pool filled the sensation grew stronger. They only thing he could compare it to was...was when he had infiltrated the Jedi Temple with Kylta and Commander Yen. It reminded him of the white tree in the ancient, abandoned part of the Temple, where the Force was so strong even he could feel it. That liquid teemed with the Force. But something felt off about it.

"What is that stuff?" he asked.

"It's a proprietary solution," Hilgal said simply.

"It's a witches brew," Uraala smiled, wriggling her toe around the liquid as it began to cover her torso. "Bacta, stem cells, some semi-autonomous nanites. And a bunch of weird materiel they gathered from all over the place."

"Uraala...he doesn't have anywhere near the clearance to even be in here, much less know about the treatment," Hilgal admonished. "I could be fired if my supervisors find out."

"They better not find out then," Uraala said. She slid her back down the side of the pool until her whole body was submerged, only the tips of her lekku visible.

Hilgal turned to leave, but grabbed Aramis' arm. "No one can know you came in here," she warned.

"I get it."

Hilgal glanced at Uraala, who was still submerged. "And don't go in the pool. Don't even touch the liquid."

"Okay."

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I need to monitor her data from the control center." Hilgal left through the concealed door.

Uraala emerged from the liquid and then drifted over towards him. She placed her forearms on the rim of the pool and rested her chin on them. "Come closer."

Aramis complied, but stayed just out of reach. "I don't mean to be rude. But you aren't contagious are you?"

"No, I'm not contagious," she shook her head. "But they barely know what this stuff will do to me, much less to you."

He sat near the pool and crossed his legs. He could the feel the Force radiating from the liquid.

"Arayen isn't your real name, is it?" she asked.

"How did you know?"

"The way your eyes hesitate when she called you by it. What's your real name?"

"It's Aramis."

"So similar to the real thing. Not a good idea."

"It came out inadvertently and I had to stick with it. What experience do you have with aliases?"

"You'd be surprised." There was a few moments of silence between them. Uraala closed her eyes, apparently resting as the liquid soaked into her pores.

"May I ask what's wrong with you?" Aramis asked, curiosity overtaking his sense of propriety.

"Sure," she said, smiling wearily even as she kept her eyes closed. "Most people are afraid of asking. During the war I was conducting some...family business. Moving goods around between Separatist and Republic worlds."

"That's not easy to do."

"No," she agreed. She leaned backwards and drifted on her back, allowing her body to float. "My family runs one of the best smuggling operations in the outer rim. We would could move anything, no matter how illicit. When the war started, moving everyday stuff became just as profitable. Even more, actually."

"But then something happened."

"Yeah. I had just finished apprenticing for my father, started going out on my own jobs. Had my own ship, my own crew. We were moving mundane supplies, foodstuff, medicine...I got greedy. I started slipping in some nasty stuff amongst the crates."

"Spice?"

"No...much worse. I don't suppose there is any harm in telling you." She sat upright in the pool and gazed at him carefully. "Nightsister artifacts," she said in a mockingly spooky voice.

Aramis went cold. "How did you get stuff like that off Dathomir?"

"You know who the Nightsisters are?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes. They are Witches who deal in the dark side."

"That's right. How did you know that? Nobody knows about them."

"I know a lot of things," Aramis said darkly.

"Then you aren't just a good looking body, you've got a brain in that bald head of yours." Aramis blushed in spite of himself, his face going a darker shade of blue. "And you've got secrets bigger than mine."

"I'd rather not…"

"Your secrets are yours to keep. In exchange you have promise to hang out with me."

"Hang out?"

"Look good while standing next to me. Stare menacingly at those who would do me harm."

"You offering me a bodyguard position?"

"I can offer you a lot more than this place is paying."

"Alright. Deal." She held out her hand above the pool, and for a moment he reached out before hesitating. "Sorry, I don't think I can shake on it. No offense."

"None taken," she smiled. "No handshake necessary. It's probably a temporary position anyway." She glanced at the medical scanners.

"So...you never got to the part where the thing went wrong," Aramis pointed out.

"Right. Some Republic commandos attacked the meetup with my buyer, a Separatist commander. A missile hit my ship, it exploded, and I got showered with this weird energy. I've been dying ever since."

"I'm sorry."

"I brought it on myself."

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Hilgal. She spotted Aramis sitting so close to the pool and angrily motioned for him to get back. He exchanged a knowing look with Uraala, got to his feet, and took a few steps backward.

Uraala emerged from the pool and Hilgal began speaking with her about her treatment. Aramis noticed that her barbels twitched. He knew from watching Akawa that it meant she was nervous. Uraala looked increasingly unhappy as the conversation continued. Eventually she angrily shooed Hilgal away and turned to Aramis, a gentle smile instantly returning to her face.

"I'm going to get dressed, and then get something to eat," she said. "You're coming with."

"Sounds great," Aramis said. He hoped that if Uraala paid well enough, he might be able to get a ship big enough for him to lay down in.


	7. Malastare: Part II

**Chapter Seven**

Aramis was thrilled to be back in a proper gymnasium again. The facility was similar to the areas in the Jedi Temple that specialized in physical training. It was equipped with weight lifting equipment, pedal bikes, punching bags, and gymnastics rings. At the center of the room was a hard mat, perfect for practice duels. In some ways this facility was actually nicer than the Jedi version. The Aven criminal family, to which Uraala belonged, lacked the Jedi propensity for austerity.

Aramis stared at the combatant across from him, a young Twi'lek man with green tinged skin. Uralla rung the and the Twi'lek charged at him, aiming a punch for his face. Before he could get in range Aramis struck out with a kick, striking him in the stomach. The Twi'lek went down, gasping for breath.

"Aww, come on cousin," Uraala called mockingly. "You said you could take him."

Aramis bent down and extended his hand, offering to help him to his feet, but his hand was batted away. "If you want advice...you shouldn't charge in like that," Aramis said. "You focused too much on my face, where your attack was going, ignoring the rest of my body."

"I don't want your advice, offworlder," the Twi'lek spat.

"If you can't last more than five seconds, get off the mat," Uraala ordered. "Arayen would be better off training with a bag," she said, using his cover name. The young man shot her a look that seemed a mix of anger and resentment, but he got to his feet and walked slowly towards the locker room.

"You said he was a good fighter...he's got potential. He moves well, he just doesn't think through his actions," Aramis said.

"That applies to more than just his fighting," Uraala smiled. She was more energetic today, having received another treatment the previous night. It was her third since Aramis had met her, almost a week ago, and he already knew that her energy would only last about twenty four hours before she became lethargic. Her treatment was staving off her illness, but it wasn't curing it. He suspected it was a problem that couldn't be treated with medicine. "And I said he _thought_ he was a good fighter, not that he actually was one. He needs to be humbled a little bit before he gets older and starts getting some real responsibility."

"Maybe he thought he was a good fighter because his friends are afraid to hit back?" Aramis asked.

"There is probably some truth to that. His uncle...my father, is the most powerful crime lord in the system. Can you blame his friends?"

"Speaking of your father…"

"The dinner is still on," Uraala said, shaking her head before he could raise any further objection.

"Who brings a bodyguard to a family dinner?"

"In my family? You'd be surprised," Uraala said, laughing. She approached, barefooted, stepping lightly on the mat until she stood before him. She placed her hands on his. "You know you are more than just a bodyguard."

"Well…" he began. She kissed him, cutting off any protestations. He closed his eyes, enjoying the softness of her lips. He breathed in her scent, a mixture of spice and sweetness. With an underlay of the bacta odor her treatment caused. Smelling the bacta gave him new sensations, one he associated with being in the presence of that strange tree deep within the Jedi Temple.

She broke off the kiss and stared into the pupils of his black eyes, a big smile playing across her face. "You should take a shower and get dressed. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Which won't be a surprise if I tell you about it. Go and hurry up."

"Yes ma'am," Aramis said, already replaying the kiss in his head.

oOoOo

Wind whipped through the air as they sat in the back of one of Uraala's speeders. Growing up and living with the Jedi had taught him to get by with only a handful of possessions, but even he was aware that most people didn't own eight speeders. Normally Uraala would be flying, but she was restricted from doing so by her doctors. Instead a Rodian flew for her, although she wasn't complaining about it today. She sat leaning against Aramis' shoulder in the back seat, her hand entwined with his.

They were on their way to the spaceport, speeding through the air high above Pixelito's streets. The spaceport, one of three located in the city, was arrayed like a series of concentric circles. The circles, around which numerous ships of all sizes docked, intertwined in an array that reminded him of the petals of a flower. It was rather beautiful.

The speeder slowed and descended, arriving at a v.i.p landing pad on the upper level of one of the rings. Aramis hopped out of the back first and then turned to help Uraala out as she stumbled a bit over the speeder's door. They left the Rodian behind with the speeder and entered the busy spaceport, which was crowded with middle of the day traffic.

There were members of every species present, and suddenly Aramis felt like he was back on Coruscant. "Where is the surprise?" he asked.

"Just follow me," she answered coyly. She wore one of her customary fur coats, this time over the the top of a more utilitarian business dress. Gradually, as they got know each other, Aramis had noticed she had begun dressing less ostentatiously. Apparently she had realized she didn't need to dress up in order to impress him.

They passed a visitor area of the spaceport that included a sundry shop and a non-alcoholic bar. Vidscreens above the bar show a fleet of Republic...no, Imperial...warships hovering above a forested island. It was the invasion of Kashyyyk, being covered on a holonet broadcast from Coruscant.

"Hold on," Aramis said, turning towards the screens.

"...Imperial troops have taken control of the capital Rwookrrorro, as well as major cities Awrathakka and Kachirho," a human correspondent was saying.

"What prompted the takeover?" the anchor asked.

"A separatist plot amongst the Wookie government whipped local militias against the Clone battalions stationed there after the battle of Kashyyyk," the correspondent answered. The view changed, this time showing hundreds of wookie prisoners being led to into an _Acclamator_ assault transport. "The militia responsible for the uprising will be brought to Imperial criminal courts offworld…"

"Those aren't militia, those are civilians," Aramis said, shaking his head in disgust.

"They are enslaving them…" Uraala said, just as upset as he was. "Trust me, I'm a Twi'lek. I know a slave round up when I see one."

"I should've known the Empire wasn't going to stop with the Jedi…" Aramis said. Uraala looked at him curiously. They hadn't spoken of his past yet. She hadn't brought up the subject, as she didn't want to risk pushing him away with too many questions.

"Come on, let's go," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him away from the visitor area. They walked around the ring-like spaceport in silence, hand in hand. Eventually they came to an escalator and she led him downwards to the the lower floor. A short while later Aramis suddenly realized where they were headed...the docking bay that his little transport still sat in.

His apprehension grew until they arrived at the docking bay doors outside of the bay he still had under reservation. Uraala released her hand from his grip and withdrew a passcard from a hidden pocket inside of her fur coat. "Don't worry," she said, misreading his sudden anger. "I didn't steal your passcard. When you're an Aven, there are certain people you can talk to that will get you inside of any door."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he whispered. The doors opened, revealing his docking bay. But his ship was no longer inside of it.

"Where's my ship?" he asked, his voice lower than she had ever heard it.

"I bought you a new one," she said. "When you showed me the transport you were living out of...no bodyguard of mine will live like that."

"I...look, this is amazing, but I need to know what you did with my ship. Right now," he said, his brow furrowed.

"Are you really telling me you were attached to that thing? The bathroom in my apartment was bigger."

"It's the not the ship itself I'm concerned about...it's what I had hidden in it," Aramis said between gritted teeth. "What did you do with it?"

"Relax, your ship is fine," she sighed. "I had it moved to a family lot. It's probably safer there than it is here."

Aramis let out a heavy breath. "Alright, I suppose that's fine. I just wish you would've told me beforehand."

"Yeah, sorry," Uraala said. "Maybe this was a little impulsive, even by my standards. I should've have thought things through a little bit."

"It's fine," Aramis said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "So...new ship. It looks beautiful," he said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"It's a Hyrotii _Crescent-class_ ," she said. She walked into the docking bay towards the ship. It was the size of a medium freighter, shaped like a crescent moon with its forward swept wings. It's hull was polished durasteel, reflecting the image of Aramis and Uraala as they approached. "I also lied, just a little bit. I didn't buy this ship for you...I already owned it. It's my favorite, and I'm giving it to you."

"Uraala…" Aramis said. "You don't have to do this. I was fine with my tiny ship," he said with a slight laugh.

"I want to. I'm not going to be needing it much longer, and I don't want to pass it on to one of my siblings or cousins. I want you to have it." Despite her smile there was a sadness in her eyes.

"Uraala, you shouldn't talk like that. You're not going to die."

"Yes, I am," she said. She blinked away a few tears and then smiled even more cheerfully. "Come on, let me give you a tour."

oOoOo

Aramis squirmed in the formal suit that Uraala had picked out for him. The turbolift hummed softly beneath them as they sped upwards. The transparisteel window behind them offered a grand view of Pixelito City's business district, the other skyscrapers glinting in the last vestiges of the sunset. He had never worn a suit before, especially not one as nice as this. The Jedi idea of formality was a new robe. Maybe a little polish on the lightsaber.

"How did you get my measurements?" Aramis asked. Uraala likewise was dressed up, wearing a silver iridescent dress that complemented her blue skin. Her dress was not revealing however...she wasn't comfortable revealing the blotting that marred her skin. "I have my ways," she smiled, keeping her gaze on the door. Aramis didn't need eye contact to read her expression. Her lekku twitched rhythmically, the head tail equivalent of an uncontrollable grin.

The doors of the lift opened and they emerged into a corridor of black marble and aurodium inlay. A security guard nodded towards Uraala as they passed. They exited the hall and arrived in a richly decorated sitting room. A huge window along the wall offered another expansive view of the horizon. Although he knew this high rise was much shorter than any on Coruscant, the lack of other buildings crowding around made it seem just the opposite.

The sitting room was filled with Twi'leks, most of them rutian like Uraala, although there were a few with green or orange skin. Aramis spotted Uraala's cousin, the one he had brought down with a single kick earlier in the morning. He spotted Aramis as well and whispered something into the ear of the older Twi'lek that stood beside him. Neither of them bothered to hide the cruel stares they cast in his direction.

Aramis spotted a handful of bodyguards standing against the wall, each of them gazing absently, as if they weren't paying attention to the party. Having spent plenty of time on guard duty himself, he knew their detachment was a show, especially in an indoor setting like this. He spotted a bit of empty wall and moved to occupy it, but Uraala grabbed him by the forearm and led him towards the center of the room.

"Father," Uraala said, bowing her head slightly to the overweight Twi'lek who stood at the center of the room.

"Darling," her father answered. He enveloped Uraala in a quick hug and then kissed her softly on the cheek. Aramis noticed a bit more sweetness in the kiss than might be normal. The father was clearly lamenting her illness, savoring every moment he had left with her.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," she said. "This is Arayen," she said, using his cover name. Aramis was grateful for her discretion. "Arayen, this is my father."

"Hmm, well met," her father said, offering his hand. He didn't look thrilled to be introduced to his daughter's bodyguard just like any other guest. Aramis took his hand, not letting any of his own reluctance show. "My name is Palor Aven."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Aven."

"A Core Worlds accent. But you're a Pantoran? I can't say I've met one of your kind before."

"My people have adopted the Core accent," Aramis lied. He actually had no idea what accent Pantoran's had. He should probably figure that out if he was going to keep passing himself off as one. "They think it makes them sound more well-to-do, and less like the Outer Rimmers that we are."

"Well, I can't blame them," Palor said, his own Rylothian accent suddenly becoming more pronounced. "The only thing worse than a Core worlder's superiority complex is a rimmers inferiority complex."

The other family members laughed at his joke, except for Uraala, who clearly wanted to steer the conversation away from Aramis' background.

"So," Palor continued. "What brings you to Malastare?"  
"The combat festival," Uraala interjected. "He's competing."  
"Is that right?" Palor asked. He suddenly seemed to understand her interest in him, although he really didn't understand it at all. "Is that why you showed my nephew the ropes? How hard did you say he kicked you, Tyrapa?"

Uraala's cousin looked more uncomfortable than ever, and he avoided their gaze, as he suddenly became angry. "The stomach," Tyrapa said, his lekku twitching uncomfortably.

"Uh, brother, I don't think…" Tyrapa's father began.

"Oh, come off it," Palor shook his head. "The kid needs someone to toughen him up a bit." Now everyone in the room was uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm starving," Uraala said, cutting through the tension. "Is dinner almost ready?"

"I...yes, I'll make sure it's on its way," Palor said, glancing angrily towards the dining room, in overreaction to Uraala's question. Aramis didn't know if he'd always been so accommodating towards his daughter, or if it was a more recent development. He tended to believe the latter.

"I apologize for my father," Uraala said towards her uncle. "You know he thinks highly of Tyrapa."

"Not as highly as he thinks of you," her uncle muttered. The elder smiled towards Aramis, his pointed teeth looking slightly predatory. "My name is Charro."

"Nice to meet you," Aramis said. "Your son is a good fighter. Just could use a good teacher," he added, attempting to defuse any hard feelings.

"He's _had_ good teachers," Charro snarled, the handshake suddenly growing slightly tense.

"The appetizer course is ready," Palor called from the edge of the dining room. "Main course will be ready before we are are."  
"Thanks father," Uraala answered. She glanced around the room to all of her relatives, most of whom were staring at the interaction between Aramis and Charro. "Shall we?"

The dining room was a long room, styled in the same black marble as the rest of the apartment. A single table, also black, ran the length of it. Palor took the head of the table, near the window. Uraala took the next seat to him, on the right hand side. Aramis hesitated as the other family members sat, making sure that the unoccupied chair next to Uraala was indeed meant for him.

He took his seat just as waiters, a mix of rodians, humans, and a bith, carried out trays of appetizers from the kitchen. A plate was lowered in front of his face, revealing some kind of deep fried pastry. He watched as the others bit into it, using their hands, and copied them. He found the inside of the pastry was filled with cheese.

He glanced at the Twi'lek seated next to him, a woman who appeared very similar to Uraala, except for her eyes, which were slightly rounder. They could be sisters, he thought.

"Hi," the woman said, noticing his gaze. "I'm Virina."

"Sisters?" Aramis asked, motioning towards Uraala.

"Cousins," Uraala said, leaning forward. "On my father's side. How is the little one?"

Aramis glanced downwards, suddenly realizing that Virina was pregnant. "We just found out she's a girl," Virina announced.

"Do you have a name yet?" Aramis asked.

"Viera," Virina revealed, smiling as she placed her hand over her belly.

"It's beautiful," Uraala said, nodding cheerfully.

Aramis spotted the waiters entering the dining room once again, and he hurriedly took the last bite of his pastry before they took his plate. They replaced it with a bowl of steaming noodles. He took a careful sip using the ceramic spoon left in the bowl, finding them spicy and sweet at the same time.

"So, Arayen, you're a fighter?" Palor asked. Every member of the family dropped their own conversations to stare at him. The stares from Charro and Tyrapa were less friendly.

"That's right," Aramis nodded.

"What styles are you trained in?"

"I studied Echani martial arts," he answered truthfully. When the Jedi had dropped him from the classes for those who would soon become Padawans, he had replaced their training with non-Jedi lessons. "As wall as several combat styles utilizing melee weapons."

"Any fencing?" Palor followed up. Aramis paused as Uraala's father gazed at him. He very much wished he had the ability to read minds, like a Jedi.

"Yes, quite a bit," he nodded.

"Very good, you sound qualified," Palor said. "Where did you find this one?" he asked, looking towards Uraala.

"He was working as security for the clinic," Uraala revealed.

"Someone with your qualifications working odd jobs?" Palor asked. Aramis suddenly realized Uraala's father was cleverer than he let on.

"I worked on the security detail of a diplomat during the war," Aramis said, quickly concocting a cover story. "During the battle of Coruscant...well, my employer suddenly didn't need my services anymore. Because of political concerns I had to look for work elsewhere...and that's what drew me to Malastare. The clinic was just short term work until the tournament started."

"Ah, I see," Palor nodded, seemingly buying the story. "Well, good luck. I'm putting my money on Lehal Jak."

"Not a bad bet," Aramis nodded. "I watched him in the opening bout."

"He's humble too," Palor said, laughing. "I suppose you're the type that let your fighting speak for itself."

"Winning speaks for itself," Aramis said.

"Well put," Palor agreed.

Aramis changed the subject by digging into his noodles, which had cooled enough that he could quickly eat them. The rest of the dinner continued relatively easily. Uraala's father occasionally engaged him in conversation, but the rest of the family demanded enough of his attention that he couldn't focus solely on Aramis. For his part, Aramis kept to himself, speaking only when spoken to. He spent the moments he was unengaged mentally going over his cover story, memorizing the parts he had already spoke of and making sure it all fit together convincingly.

Eventually he noticed that Uraala was beginning to look fatigued, although she was trying not to show it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Aramis whispered. Although only she could hear his voice Charro glanced over knowingly. Her uncle was keeping a close eye on her.

"Yes," Uraala said sternly. "I'm fine."

Palor noticed her speaking. He had been so involved in conversation he had almost forgotten his daughter's condition. "You can take off whenever you like, sweetheart," he said. "If you're beginning to feel tired…"

"I feel fine," Uraala spat angrily. Aramis noticed she was sweating, even though it wasn't hot in the room.

"Well, I'm feeling unwell," Aramis lied. "I don't think my stomach is quite used to the spices on Malastare yet."

Uraala glanced at him and realized he was attempting to cover for her. "Fine, we can go," she said coldly. They got up from the table, Uraala wobbling slightly on her feet. Her father stood and they exchanged a quick hug. A few moments later they descended the turbolift in silence. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Then maybe we should work on some silent signal," Aramis said. "You're clearly not feeling well, and everyone could see it."

"Only after you pointed it out," she said angrily.

"Was I supposed to wait until you passed out at the table before saying anything?"

"No, of course not," she said, taking a deep breath. "But there is more going on than you know."

"I think I've got a good grasp of it."

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you try saying it."

"You were the heir to the family business," Aramis began. "Because of your sickness, Charro is positioning his son as the heir instead. But your father isn't happy with Tyrapa. Which he alluded to with not much subtlety when we first arrived. That's why your uncle and cousin are so upset I made him look weak this morning."

"Okay, you did pretty good," Uraala agreed reluctantly. "My father wouldn't be happy with anyone except for me, by the way. It has very little to do with Tyrapa's capabilities."

"I don't know Tyrapa very well yet...but it might have _something_ to do with it," Aramis said.

"Yeah, maybe," Uraala said, finally smiling a little bit. She leaned against Aramis' body, allowing him to wrap her up in his arms. She closed her eyes as the lift descended. "I'm going to have to go in for treatment every day now...I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

"I'll fly you," Aramis said. "You can sleep on the way, and I'll be with you the whole time." He kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Well, alright, then," she agreed, her voice growing soft as she began to fall asleep. By the time the lift reached the parking garage at the foundation of the enormous building Aramis had to carry her, but he didn't mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slept as he made his way to her speeder.


	8. Malastare: Part III

**Chapter 8**

Aramis knelt above the pool, which was already filled with the strange mixture that Malastare Medical Corp had concocted in an effort to cure Uraala of her affliction. He watched as she floated on her back in the silvery liquid. According to Hilgal, who was on call at all hours, if he hadn't got her to the clinic so quickly Uraala might have slipped into a coma.

"This treatment isn't working," Aramis whispered as the Mon Calamari doctor stepped in front of him.

"We're almost ready to try something new. A new delivery method, direct injection of a concentrated formula," Hilgal said quietly.

"I can hear you both," Uraala said loudly. Once they had gotten her in the pool she had begun to revive immediately.

"I'm going to head to the instrumentation room," Hilgal said. "Don't touch the solution," she said, warning Aramis once again.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Uraala sighed once Hilgal left. "I'm tired."

"It sounds like they're going to try something new soon. Maybe it will be easier," Aramis said. "Maybe it will work better."

"I've been told that before," she sighed. "This treatment I'm doing now...it wasn't exactly their first idea. In fact, I don't think this is legal for sentient medicine."

"I don't want you to give up," Aramis said, scratching the top of his head nervously.

"Why?"

"I just met you. I'd like to keep you around for awhile."

"Ah, I see," she said. She turned over and swam over to the rim. "You want me to keep fighting to stay alive...for you. How very selfish of you."

"Well," Aramis said with a smile. "If it works…"

Uraala stared at him for a moment before finally smiling herself. "Damnit, you're too cute."

"Cute?" Aramis asked.

"Yes, cute," she smirked. "Alright. If I'm going to put up with all this just so you can have me, I need to know who I'm fighting for."

"What do you mean?"

"Your secrets. I need to know where you came from and why you're on the run. What are you hiding on your ship that had you so freaked out when we went to the spaceport."

"Uraala…"

"If you want me, this is the deal."

There was a long pause. "Alright...I'll tell you everything. Not here though."

"There aren't any listening devices here," Uraala said. "Believe me, Malastare Medical wants as little of my treatment on record as possible."

"That may be. But we should have this conversation somewhere we know for sure is safe."

"Fine," Uraala agreed, rolling her eyes. "Your story better be worth all the subterfuge."

"I promise you that it is."

oOoOo

The intense lights of the arena beat down upon Aramis, illuminating his dark blue skin and making his white uniform seem to glow. The lights made it impossible to see the people in the stands, but he could hear them. Over twenty-thousand strong, the chatter intermixed into a low rumble as the noise washed over him. But it wasn't a high intensity noise. This was the round robin stage, when every combatant would face five others and determine their place in tournament bracket. This was day two of the round, and it would continue into next week. He was an unknown fighter, and so was his opponent.

The Zygerrian fighter stood a dozen meters in front of him. The humanoid's appearance was feline in nature, with large ears and a fur covered face. This one's fur was gray, with pink and orange splotches running down his neck. The referee approached and stepped onto the mat between them.

"This is the first bout on record for the both of you," the referee, a native Gran, said. "So I'd like to go over the ground rules. The round robin stage is hand to hand combat only. Weapons are only for the finals. There is a ten minute time limit, if time expires with no winner the judges will decide. The goal is to disable your opponent, either through a knockout or submission. Although fatalities can occur, and both of you have signed waivers, attacks designed to kill are against the rules. It will be up to the judge's discretion if an infraction occurs. Finally, leaving the mat for any reason will cause that combatant to lose the match. Understood?"

"Yes," Aramis answered. The Zygerrian merely nodded.

"Any further questions?" the referee asked. Aramis noticed the claws extending from the Zygerrians fingers, an evolutionary trait passed on from their feline ancestors.

"Do body parts, claws for example, count as weapons?" Aramis asked.

"They do not," the referee shook his head. His three eyes followed Aramis' gaze and spotted the Zygerrians extended claws. "I would remind you about the rule discouraging attacks meant to kill. A severe infraction will land you a permanent ban from the tournament."

"I understand," the Zygerrian said, smiling sinisterly. He slowly withdrew his claws, making a show of it for Aramis' sake.

"Very well, go to your marks. The buzzer will signal the beginning of the match."

Aramis turned and found the mark the referee referred to, a small black line sewn into the mat. He turned and bowed to his opponent. The Zygerrian did not return the bow.

The buzzer sounded from above, an infernally high pitched tone that seemed to go on much too long. But, every time it went off, the crowd was momentarily silent, giving the beginning of each bout an element of drama. Aramis knew it played well on the Holonet.

Instead of immediately running towards him as the Gran fighter did in the ceremonial opening bout, the Zygerrian slowly prowled around Aramis, as if tracing a circle around his prey. Each of his steps were soft, measured, and graceful. For his part Aramis remained still, his breathing steady but calm. He turned his body as the Zygerrian circled and kept one hand upwards, his fist unclenched. The other hand he kept at his hip. He looked as much as if he were slow dancing with an invisible partners as he was in a martial stance.

His opponent looked unnerved by his calm, his attempts at intimidation showing no outward effect. The Zygerrian continued circling, making his second trip around the orbit that Aramis stood at the center of. Halfway around the second trip, just as Aramis readjusted his body to keep his opponent in front of him, the Zygerrian pounced.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Rather than taking another step forward the Zygerrian spun backwards and raked his long arm downwards towards Aramis' face. His cat-like reflexes were too quick for Aramis to get out of harm's way. Claws raked across his shoulder, sendings hot needles of pain into his body.

Aramis counter punched with the hand he had kept down, striking the Zygerrian in the ribs. His opponent aimed a right hook, claws extended, attempting to rake his face, but he ducked under the attack. This time he punched with his right, landing a hard jab against the Zygerrian's jaw.

Aramis pressed his attack, keeping his face inches from the Zygerrian's, thus eliminating the advantage of the feline humanoid's long limbs. He hit him on the other side of the torso as the Zygerrian covered his face with his forearms. The Zygerrian struck out with his knee, striking Aramis in the side and forcing him back.

Claws went flying for his face, but Aramis took another step back. He could feel the air move as those razor sharp talons went flying millimeters past his nose. There was an opening in the Zygerrian's stance as his last swipe missed, but Aramis was unable to take advantage of it. The Zygerrian's superior reach prevented any counter attack. If Aramis tried to duck in he knew he would have those claws raking across his back.

Aramis continued to step backwards until he was out of reach. He stopped and went back into his starting position. His breathing relaxed. He kept one hand open, facing his opponent, the other at his side.

"I don't have to do anything further," the Zygerrian said. He began to resume his predatory circling. "Time will expire and the judges will claim me as the winner."

"What makes you say that?" Aramis asked.

"I've drawn blood," the zygerrian said, nodding towards the blood dripping from Aramis' shoulder.

"And your face is swelling up," he responded. "How do your ribs feel, by the way? It looks like it hurts when you breathe. Are you so sure the judges will be in your favor?"

The Zygerrian hissed angrily and then lunged forward. It was the same attack he had used to open the match, a clawed swipe towards his face. This time Aramis was ready.

As soon as the Zygerrian jumped in forward Aramis slapped upwards with his forward hand, catching his opponent in the forearm. The claws missed their marking, slicing only through the air. Aramis jabbed, catching him in square in the face. The Zygerrian fell back but counter swiped. Aramis ducked under it and landed two punches to his opponent's ribs, one to each side.

The Zygerrian tried to bring his claws down upon the top of his head but Aramis caught his wrist and pulled him inwards. His knee plunged into the Zygerrian's stomach, and when the humanoid crumbled over he brought his elbow into his back.

The Zygerrian rolled onto the matt, trying to force air into his lungs and stop the paralyzing pain coursing through his spine. He crawled away, kicking outwards uselessly as Aramis followed him casually.

"The match is over, submit," Aramis demanded.

"I'll...never...give up," the Zygerrian gasped. "The match isn't over."

"No, it's over," Aramis said, shaking his head. He stopped following his opponent. "You've crawled off of the mat.

The Zygerrian looked about him in astonishment, and then frowned. He hadn't left the mat at all. By the time he turned back towards Aramis the blue man was atop him. Aramis planted his knee over one of the Zygerrian's arms, held the other down with his free hand, and then placed his forearm over his throat.

"It's over," Aramis repeated. "Submit." The Zygerrian struggled for only a moment, hopelessly trying to free his limbs.

"I submit," the Zygerrian whispered, his voice barely audible. A buzzer went off overhead, diverting Aramis attention. So the tournament organizers could hear them, even if they whispered. That was good to know. He released the Zygerrian as the referee ran out onto the mat. He stepped back quickly, preventing any retaliation.

"The winner," the referee announced, his voice booming across the arena's speakers. Aramis glanced around, still unable to see the crowd through the bright lights shining down on him. Almost all twenty thousand of them were cheering.

The Gran approached the Zygerrian, intending to help him to his feet so that he might present both combatants to the crowd. He jumped back when a handful of claws swiped out at him.

"I will not forget this insult," the Zygerrian spat.

"There are four round robin bouts left," Aramis said, shrugging. "Win all of them and you can get your revenge in the elimination stage."

"You can count on it," came the answer. Aramis wasn't looking forward to that, but he hoped the Zygerrian would try to win his vengeance during the tournament, and not in some narrow corridor. 

oOoOo

Aramis winced as a medic applied a disinfectant to the cuts on his shoulder. The top half of his white uniform was lowered, revealing his muscular torso. The left half of his uniform was stained with blood. Each of the Zygerrian's claws had cut four parallel incisions into his skin. The wounds weren't deep, however. He was just glad that none of those attacks aimed at his face had landed. The rules might outlaw fatalities, but they said nothing about blindings or mutilation.

He felt the air pressure in the room shift as the locker room doors opened, a rush of cold air causing his body to shudder. The faint scent of bacta accompanied the cold air.

"Are you allowed in here?" Aramis asked.

"Didn't I already tell you that there is no locked door that won't open for an Aven on Malastare?" Uraala responded.

"You did," Aramis said, wincing once again as the medic applied another disinfectant swab.

"He got you good," Uraala said. "Despite everything you told me about your background, I still thought there was a decent chance that I would be visiting a corpse after this first match."

"I didn't exaggerate about any of it," Aramis said. Uraala sat on the bench in front of him and nodded towards the medic. The Gran caught her drift and exited the locker room. Uraala took up the first aid kit instead.

"I know," Uraala said quietly. Aramis was distinctly aware that her face was inches from his as she finished cleaning his wound. "But showing is a lot different from telling." She threw the disinfectant swab into a nearby trash bin and retrieved a bacta patch from the first aid kit. She placed the patch over his cuts, frowned, and then retrieved three more. Together all three of them covered the area required.

"So...when you force your way into areas you're not allowed do you flash an i.d card or does everyone recognize you?" Aramis asked.

"A lot of the establishments that someone that someone of my...social class...frequents, they know everyone in my family by face. At most other places, dropping my name is sufficient. When that doesn't work, you use bribes or threats. And when you want to be clever you register as a coach and they just let you into the locker rooms."

"You're registered as my coach?" he asked, smiling in amusement.

"That's right," she said, smiling back. A buzzer sounded. They both glanced up at the sound. Holographic video screens were stationed around the locker room, providing a broadcast of the tournament. Lehal Jak's first bout in the round robin stage had begun. He was facing a Gamorrean who seemed rather large, even by his own species' standards.

"That's your target," Uraala whispered.

"Yeah," Aramis said, nodding slightly.

"You really think he is a Jedi?"

"I don't know," Aramis whispered. "If so, not one that I recognize. But he definitely has the Force."

"How can you tell?"

"The way he moves," Aramis answered as he watched the bout. The Gamorrean was aiming some rather clumsy punches, which Jak was easily able to dodge. The force of his counter punches, however, seemed to be getting absorbed in the boar-like humanoid's blubber. "This fight isn't a great example, but his reflexes are too quick. In the ceremonial opening, and the matches from last year that I've watched, he often reacts to his opponent before the attack is actually coming in. You have to slow down the footage to see this but…"

"Maybe he is just really good at predicting his opponent? Like how you predicted what the Zygerrian would do when he started circling you the second time."

"If you know, instinctively, where the next punch is going to come from, you don't have to predict anything."

"But he's lost matches."

"Intentionally. He doesn't want his record to look too good. If it did people that know what to look for might notice where his abilities are going to coming from."

"Okay, makes sense," Uraala agreed. "But if he's been around for awhile, that means he didn't start travelling the galaxy at the same time you did," she said, meeting his eyes carefully. Despite the seriousness of their conversation he smiled. He very much liked her eyes.

"That's true. He might have left before the Clone Wars even started."

"So. Assuming you and him both make the finals, how are you going to beat him? How do you beat someone who knows what you're going to do before you do it."

"I don't need to beat him," Aramis said simply. He checked his bandages, straining his neck to get a glimpse of his shoulder. On the holoscreens Jak had changed up his strategy. Instead of trying to penetrate the Gamorrean's thick blubber he went for the knee, aiming a hard kick as he ducked under another clumsy, but powerful, left hook. From the expression of pain on Jak's face as his foot connected the Gamorrean's bones were as thick as his blubber. "I just need to fight him."


	9. Malastare: Part IV

**Chapter Nine**

Aramis gazed out of the wall of transparisteel that separated the inside of Uraala's apartment from the balcony. Her apartment, just like her father's, was located at the top of a skyscraper located in Pixelito City's downtown district. He lay on his back on one of her couches, his bare feet propped up on the arm, his head supported by his arms criss-crossed behind his head. It was the day after his fight with the Zygerrian, and he had no bouts scheduled today. He turned his head towards the huge holographic vidscreen Uraala had embedded within the organic tiled wall. He had been replaying Lehal Jak's bout from yesterday, with the Gamorrean. The dark skinned human had ended up winning on a judge's decision. In the ten minute bout nothing he threw at the boar-like humanoid had seemed to do any damage. Yet he had managed to avoid being hit for that same length of time. Jak had come off the worse, but the judges didn't seemed to have counted self inflicted wounds suffered from landing strikes on your opponent against him.

Uraala entered the room, carrying a datapad in one hand and a cocktail in the other. Aramis glanced up, smiling when he saw the bright pink pajamas she was wearing. The material was fluffy, and he thought she looked not unlike a hare that had fallen into a vat of liquid candy. But somehow she still pulled it off.

"I want a pair of those," Aramis said, nodding towards the fluffy outfit.

"It's literally the most comfortable thing I've ever worn," Uraala said with a laugh. "We should make you a combat uniform out of this material. Your opponents will be so bewildered you will be able to knock them out before they process what happened to them."

"It's not the worst idea," Aramis said, shrugging.

"Speaking of ideas," Uraala began. "I think it's time to do some opposition research on your target."  
"Opposition research?"

"Yes. The whole point of you fighting in this tournament was to get close to him, right? To find out if he was a Jedi?"

"Yeah. And to earn some credits while doing it."

"Well, you don't need to worry about credits. I got you covered there. So that leaves figuring out who this human is, if he comes from your Order."

"And if I can convince him to help out the...cause," Aramis said, searching for the correct term.

"You also need to find out if he is someone whose help you want," she added. "Before, your resources were limited. Hence entering the tournament. But they aren't anymore, and I've got a friend who specializes in this kind of work."  
"Someone who works your father?"

"Yeah. But before he worked for my father he worked for me. He used to be on my crew, before that he was a merc. Now he runs a private security firm. There's only one potential problem...well, only a problem for you. But I'm going to tell right off to get over it."

"What problem?"

"He's my ex-boyfriend."

"What? Really?" Aramis said, swinging his legs off of the couch and sitting up in order to face Uraala, who sat in the couch on the opposite side of the room.

"Yes, really. It was a mutual break-up. And we're still friends."

"That's...nice, I suppose," Aramis began carefully. "Do you trust him?"

"I trust him with my life. Seriously. The only person I trust more is you, _meeshku_ ," she said, using the huttesse word for 'sweetie.' There was a short pause as Aramis thought about it.

"If you trust him that well...that's all I need to know," he said at last.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Completely sure. Who is this guy?"

She handed him the datapad. "Exa Karr. He's a Mandalorian, his family was exiled years before the Clone Wars. He was bouncing around worlds as a hired gun before I came across him. Now he pretends to be a well-to-do businessman, but at heart he's still the scruffy looking _kandosii bes'bavar_ you would call when you needed someone to bail you out. Someone who wasn't afraid to kick down doors and blow things up."

"I see. You said his family was exiled?" Aramis asked. He looked at the datapad, which displayed the Holonet site of Karr's company, Cabur Security.

"Yeah," she nodded. "It's not really my place to talk about it. But the short story is that his family was involved with the True Mandalorians, a faction in the Mandalorian Civil War. The True Mandalorians lost, hence the exile."

"Ah. When you said Mandalorian exiles...very unflattering images popped into my head."

"You know most of the Mandalorians are pacifists, right?" Uraala asked.

"That was before the Clone Wars," Aramis said. Mandalore had sided with the Separatists during the war. Then, right before the Republic had invaded, there had been some kind of coup. The information about the whole series of events, at least what was available to the public through the Holonet, had been rather vague. "Times have changed."

"True," Uraala said. "So. You want me to call him?"

Aramis wished he could meditate on it. It was true what Kylta had said on Dantooine. If they hoped to accomplish anything of value against Palpatine's Empire they needed allies. The problem was, the more people he relied upon, the more vulnerable he became. If all he wanted was to be safe he could hide away on some desert planet in the middle of nowhere. But if he wanted to make a difference, he had to take risks. Entering the tournament was a risk. Befriending...no, falling in love...with Uraala was a risk. Lehal Jak was a risk.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

"Okay. I'll make some calls and set up a meeting for tomorrow."

"Sometime after the second bout should work," Aramis agreed.

oOOOO

Aramis bowed towards his opponent. He wore the same white uniform as before. The blood had been washed out of it, but the slashes in the shoulder remained. This time his opponent bowed as well. The combatants went to their marks.

He had never heard of a Noghri before. Uraala had done some quick research once he had found out who his opponent would be. The Noghri's homeworld had been unknown to the galaxy at large until the Clone Wars. The only mention of it on the Holonet was that a battle had been fought there, nothing further was stated.

The humanoid before him had slate grey skin, his body leathery and hairless. The being was much shorter than he was, but powerfully built. The buzzer overhead sounded. The Noghri stood still, his breathing calm, his muscles relaxed. Aramis frowned.

He took a half step forward and the Noghri did the same. Aramis held his hand up in his standard guard, one hand high, the other low. The Noghri held both of his hands high but kept his muscles relaxed, just as Aramis did. And then the grey skinned alien attacked.

The jab came in the blink of an eye. One moment Aramis was planning a feint and the next a fist smashed into his nose. He fell back. His vision blurred. He felt two punches land against his ribs...the same one-two punch sequence he had used against the Zygerrian.

Aramis stepped backwards and swept out with his foot, a kick designed to keep the Noghri away. Instead the Noghri caught Aramis' leg and pulled him inwards, repeatedly smashing his fist down on his thigh. He counter punched, aiming for his opponents ear as he took strike after strike on his leg. The Noghri, with superhuman reflexes, got his forearm up, catching his counter. In retaliation Aramis received a headbutt to the face.

The Noghri released his leg, allowing Aramis to stumble backwards. The alien stepped forward casually, aiming another jab towards his face. He managed to block this one, but it was a feint. A second punch plunged into his stomach, causing him to crumble forward.

Aramis rolled onto his back. His vision was blurry and blood streamed down his nose like a faucet. He had no feeling in his leg and he could barely breath. The bout had gone on for less than thirty seconds and it was almost over already.

The Noghri stepped atop him, one hand gripping the neck of his uniform. The other hand went up, preparing to land a knockout blow. Aramis aimed a desperate hooking punch, which the Noghri easily deflected with his raised hand. The alien responded with a quick jab to Aramis' chest. And then the alien's hand went back up.

Just as the fist began to shoot downwards Aramis snapped his uninjured leg upwards. He hooked his knee around the Noghri's arm, using his shin to pull him down. The alien frowned and tried to spin away, realizing he had made a mistake. But Aramis wrapped his bicep around the back of the Noghri's neck and rolled backwards, wrapping the Noghri into a small package cradle.

The alien began jabbing his fist into Aramis' side, but he ignored the crushing pain threatening to overwhelm him. Instead he grabbed the Noghri's wrist, wrapped both legs around his neck, and rolled over the top of his arm. The Noghri was spun onto his back, unable to break free despite his outsized strength and agility

Aramis stretched out, his legs pushing on the alien's neck while he hyperextended his elbow. He felt a snapping sensation as the Noghri's elbow joint blew out. The alien desperately landed strike after strike against his ribs, but he gritted his teeth and kept his armbar on. Finally the strikes began to weaken, and then cease altogether. The Noghri passed out.

Aramis released his opponent as the buzzer sounded. The referee ran out onto the mat, but could only stand over the winner as Aramis scooted backwards away from the unconscious Noghri.

Aramis had to be carried off the mat. Moments later he lay on his back in the locker room as the medic began administering first aid. "We're going to have to send you to a medcenter," the human man said. Aramis' vision swam, blood continuing to stream down his face. Each breath he took caused needles of pain to shoot into his body.

"Seven rylothian hells," he heard Uraala say when she entered the locker room. "I thought he was going to kill you."

"Id ib was beal bite be ood ab," Aramis said, he speech almost unintelligible.

"I'll get him to the medcenter," Uraala instructed the nurse, raising her comlink to her ear.

"Banks," Aramis said. He felt a sudden sting as the nurse stuck him with a sedative injection. An instant later he passed out.

oOoOo

Aramis sat in Cabur Security's lobby, which was richly decorated in plushy leather divans, black marble floors, and rich mahogany from Kashyyyk. His face was swollen and bandaged, pink bruising marred his cheeks. He still wore the hospital gown they had put him in after a quick bacta bath.

He tried to ignore the stare from the receptionist and the other beings sitting in the waiting room. He was sure that, if it weren't for Uraala sitting next to him, he would've been thrown out already. He glanced upward when he heard footsteps approaching. He had to rely on his sense of hearing as his vision was still blurred, especially at his periphery.

"Wow," came the voice of a man with a thick Mandalorian accent. "If I hadn't seen the fight live on the Holonet I would have thought you had been through a speeder accident," Exa said.

"Ib brolly beel better ib I ad," Aramis said, his voice nasally through his broken nose.

"I think it would be best if you let us do us do the talking," Uraala interjected.

"Babebber," Aramis shrugged. He winced as he rose from his seat and followed the others to Exa Karr's office.

Exa wore a fine business suit, his blonde hair closely shaved on the sides and long on top. His office was a huge room with comfortable couches, a huge vidscreen on the wall, and a wooden desk the size of a door. He had decorated his walls with weapons; there were antique Czerka blasters, pairs of duelist vibroswords, and even a suit of Mandalorian _beskar'gam_ battle armor from the days of the Old Republic.

"Ibrebbive cobection," Aramis tried to say.

"Thanks," Exa answered. "Some of it was passed down, other things I bought at auction."

"Some of it I helped smuggle through customs," Uraala said, smiling mischievously.

"So, I'm assuming you didn't stop by just to introduce me to your new friend," Exa said. "What can I do for you, Uraala?"

"It's for him. We want to hire your company for some surveillance work," Uraala answered.

"You boud all ib obbobi…" Aramis began.

"You could call it opposition research," Uraala translated, slight annoyance on her face.

"Who is the target?"

"Lehal Jak," she answered.

"Last year's champion? Why do you need to hire out for surveillance on the guy? Aren't all of his fights available on the Holonet?"

Aramis glanced at Uraala and nodded. "We suspect he has the Force." There was a long pause as Exa processed her implication.

"You think he's a Jedi? Do you want to collect the bounty on him?"

"Aboluty ot. Ib Embire ums bor im I bill bold you rebobibble," Aramis said angrily.

Exa held up his hands in apology. "I wasn't a fan of the Republic, much less this new Empire. I don't care about politics or hunting the Empire's enemies. Unless it's business, of course."

"We want to know everything about him," Uraala said. "Where he lives, where he eats, where he came from. Who his friends are. And we want everything you gather to be as highly classified as possible."

"If he really is a Jedi...they've got a half million credit bounty for information leading to an arrest. A full million if you bring them in yourself. That's five years salary for most of my people. There's no way I can trust them," he explained.

"Then do the work yourself," Uraala suggested.

"You know, the whole point of having my own company is so I don't have to do grunt work like this anymore."

"Are you turning me down Exa?" Uraala asked, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"No," he shook his head. "Of course not. It's just going to take a little bit longer if I have to do all the legwork myself."

"Ab long ab you bit done bebore da burniment," Aramis said, a bit of blood beginning to drip from his nose. His bandage had reached saturation.

"You should stop talking now," Uraala said, patting Aramis on the back. "Is there anything else you need to know?" she asked, turning back towards Exa.

"I think I've got it. I'll send you the bill on delivery," he added, toying with a small vibroknife on his desk. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"I'm still alive," Uraala answered simply.

Exa glanced at Aramis, wishing he could speak with the blue man alone, but also not wanting to have listen to him try to say words in his current condition. "All right. You promise you'll call me if anything happens."

"You'll be the second or third call, promise," Uraala said with a smile.

oOoOo

Aramis floated in a bacta tank, naked except for some tight underwear and the breathing mask on his face. Uraala slept in a chair in the medcenter, her condition causing her to fall asleep earlier in the evening than most beings. He would be sleeping to, if not for the holographic projector Uraala had been allowed to bring in. Lehal Jak's second bout was being broadcast. This time he was fighting the Zygerrian that Aramis had fought in his opener.  
The Zygerrian abandoned the circling intimidation tactic he had employed against Aramis, this time going on the attack as soon as the buzzer sounded. Jak was able avoid each swipe of the Zygerrian's claws with small movements, moving only enough to get out of harms way. Once again Aramis noticed the influence of the second form of lightsaber combat, Soresu.

Jak was shorter than Aramis, and had less reach, making it even more difficult for him to counter attack, even when the Zygerrian's wide, sweeping attacks left openings. Eventually the Zygerrian began to get exhausted, his relentless pace leaving him breathless. The alien was clearly not used to a fight going on for very long.

The Zygerrian aimed a swipe Jak's face, but the human caught him by the forearm, claws centimeters from his face. The Zygerrian tried to pull his hand out of Jak's grasp, but seemed unable to. Aramis filed this information away in his head. As well as having Jedi reflexes, he was unnaturally strong.

Jak twisted the Zygerrian's wrist. The feline humanoid aimed a kick for the human's midsection, but Jak caught that as well. Jak pulled the Zygerrian in and then released him. A blink of an eye later and he swept the Zygerrian's feet out from under him.

The Zygerrian kicked out but Jak evaded his clawed feet. A single punch to the Zygerrians head knocked him out, and the match was over.


	10. Malastare: Part V

**Chapter Ten**

Exa Karr watched as his spherical surveillance droid floated through the air above the rear entrance to the arena. He sat in the back of a repulsorlift truck that was disguised as a utility repair vehicle. He even had a Pixelito City Power Company uniform hanging in the back, just in case he needed to fool anyone who got curious.

His vehicle sat in the public parking lot outside of the arena, inconspicuous amongst the thousands of other vehicles. There were several vidscreens in the truck, one of them showing a Holonet feed from inside the arena. Lehal Jak's match with the Zygerrian had just ended and the announcers were speaking with several retired fighters, discussing the match. Part of Exa wished he could compete in the tournament. As a Mandalorian, learning to fight was a part of his childhood. However, a big part of Mandalorian training involved fighting with weapons and utilizing a suit of combat armor. The restriction on attacks meant to kill during the bouts would rule out a lot of the attacks his father had taught him. He also doubted the referees would let him bring concealed blasters or vibroknives onto the mat.

An alert chimed from the screen that showed a video stream from the droid's cameras. A group of Zygerrians, five of them, had gathered around the dumpsters near the back entrance. They spread out, utilizing their feline heritage to move silently. It looked like they were preparing for an ambush.

Exa began to reach for his comlink, but then paused. Uraala was paying him to observe Lehal Jak, not to rescue him. If he warned the fighter somehow, say by ordering the surveillance droid to buzz around the Zygerrians and blow their cover, it would signal to Jak that someone was watching him, which could alter his behavior and render any intelligence gathered unreliable.

Several minutes ticked by, but eventually the Zygerrian's target emerged from the back door. Jak stepped out towards the parking lot and seemed about to walk amongst the Zygerrians. Then he paused.

Exa ordered the droid to zoom in on Jak's face. The human glanced from side to side towards the Zygerrians. Their bodies were flattened atop the dumpster containers...there was no way he could have spotted them visually. Jak swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and then broke into a sprint.

The Zygerrians lept from their cover. Jak had almost made it through the ambush...if he had merely walked at a casual pace he would have been surrounded. Instead only two Zygerrians were near enough to immediately threaten him.

Jak moved with unnatural speed. The human ducked under a clawed swipe from the first attacker and then spun a kick into the back of his head, sending the Zygerrian tumbling to the ground. He caught a stabbing jab from the other and pulled, dislocating the alien's arm with unnatural strength.

The other three were upon him, but rather than run he fought back. With a firm grip still intact on the second Zygerrian's forearm he threw his body sideways. The second Zygerrian collided with the third and Jak aimed a kick at the second's stomach. Both of them went flying into the nearest dumpster.

The fourth Zygerrian finally managed to land an attack, swiping his claws down Jak's back. The human cried out in pain but managed to step out of the way as the fifth Zygerrian tried to trip him. He caught a stiff jab meant for his face from the fourth Zygerrian and pulled him inwards, following up with a punch to the face. The Zygerrian fell backwards, his nose smashed, and hit the ground.

The fifth Zygerrian kicked Jak in the side, knocking him over. Jak rolled away, avoiding a jumping slice attack from the Zygerrian's clawed feet. The Zygerrian kicked out, aiming to strike Jak in the face, but the human was ducking out of the way before the foot even rose. Jak landed four punches in quick succession, two on each side of the ribs and two in the stomach. The last Zygerrian crumbled to the ground.

"Looks like he didn't need my help," Exa said, his brows raised in surprise. He placed his comlink back in his pocket. "Maybe this guy has the Force after all."

oOoOo

Uraala heard a bright chirping alert beep loudly, centimeters from her face. She grunted and rolled over in bed, grabbing her comlink from the bed stand. She flicked the button on the side, silencing the alert. She turned over on her back and sat upright. The space beside her that Aramis should have occupied was empty. She glanced around the room quickly and found him sitting in front of the bed, facing the wall of transparisteel. Morning light shone through the glass, reflecting off his body, making him seem like he was glowing. He was still and unmoving, only the soft rise and fall of his chest differentiating him from a statue. She smiled and watched the muscles on his back for a moment.

Reluctantly she activated her comlink. "Yes, what do you want?"

"You sound like you just woke up," Exa said.

"You sound like you've been up all night," Uraala responded. She threw back her covers and got out of bed.

"I've been working, remember."

"Yeah. How is that going?" she asked, slowly trundling out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. She punched a few buttons on the control panel and watched as her caf brewer got to work.

"Quite well, actually," Exa answered. "Lehal Jak isn't a hard man to follow. He sticks to public transit, lives in a small apartment in the southern part of the city. Did you watch his match last night?"

"No, I fell asleep during it at the medcenter."

"Well, he fought the same Zygerrian that your boyfriend defeated in his first bout."

"I'm assuming he defeated him as well."

"He did. Apparently the Zygerrian didn't take to kindly to his second defeat. He had a group of his friends ambush Jak as he left the arena."

Uraala's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"He took them apart. The Zygerrians hid well...there should have been no way he knew they were waiting for him, but he seemed to know an ambush was coming."

"You think he does have the Force, like Aramis suspects?"

"I think it's increasingly likely."

"Okay, thanks for the intel. You'll continue to keep tabs on him?"

"Yeah, I got some droids following him around. He hasn't left his apartment yet. In the meantime I'm working on hacking through Malastare's public records. I should have more info by the end of the day."

"Thanks _pateesa_ ," Uraala said, holding a mug underneath her brewer and allowing it to fill with caf.

"I called you this early to alert you about the Zygerrian. If he tried to get revenge on Jak he might got after your boyfriend as well."

"His name is Aramis, you should use it," Uraala said, taking a long sip of caf. "Okay, I have another job for you. You can farm this one out to one of your employees. I want to know where this Zygerrian and his friends live."

"Alright. You just want intel or…."

"I can handle the rest," Uraala said, smiling.

oOoOo

Kashtar sat in his apartment, his clawed hands intertwined over his mouth. His friends, in the various beaten and bruised states that Lehal Jak had left them in, sat around him. A large vidscreen at the front of the room displayed the live video feed from the arena. Aramis, the fighter that had handed him his first defeat, was about to start his third bout, this time against a Bothan fighter.

Kashtar had expected to do much better. He had been a soldier on his native homeworld of Zygerria, serving in one of the nationalized slaver companies that had started up once his people had joined the Separatist cause. He had fought on multiple worlds, helping to round up fresh captives in a bid to restart his species' traditional industry. But the Republic, led by the Jedi, had once again foiled their plans. That the Jedi had been exterminated by the Empire was the one consolation prize brought by the end of the Clone Wars.

He watched as Aramis' match began. He adopted the same relaxed posture he had used against Kashtar. The blue skinned alien ducked out of the way as the Bothan leapt into a flying kick. Aramis spun around and tried to counter punch but the Bothan leapt once again, rolled onto the floor, and tried to kick Aramis' feet out from under him. Aramis held firm and tried to punch the Bothan, but the fur covered mammalian rolled out of the way. The Bothan rolled backwards onto his feet and then jumped straight into the air as Aramis attempted to land another punch. The Bothan's kick lacked significant force but succeeded in pushing back the larger combatant.

The bout continued on in much the same way, with the Bothan jumping, rolling, and kicking. The blows did little damage but Aramis was unable to match the Bothan's speed. Kashtar knew that, if he was fighting against the Bothan, he would have ripped the furry little man to shreds by now. At two losses and no victories he would need to win his next three bouts if he wanted a guaranteed spot in the tournament's elimination round.

Aramis' match continued into the sixth minute. The blue skinned man had yet to land a single blow against the Bothan, but the smaller alien was beginning to tire. He still juked and weaved every time Aramis attempted to counter attack, but was no unable to land any strikes of his own. The Bothan jumped backwards, evading a punch, and then glanced around, realizing he had finally been backed into the corner of the matt.

Aramis held his forearms up, blocking a flurry of strikes from the Bothan. The Bothan kicked out, underneath Aramis' guard and striking him in the stomach. But the kick seemed to do little damage. Aramis reached out and grabbed the Bothan, who could not leap backwards due to the risk of leaving the mat. Aramis wrapped his arms around the Bothan's head and struck out with a knee, landing his first blow of the bout.

The Bothan tried to break free, striking out with a series of punches to Aramis' ribs, but he could do nothing to stop the repeated knees Aramis used to rob the Bothan of his ability to breath. When the Bothan could barely stand without Aramis holding him upright he simply pushed backwards on his fur covered chest. The Bothan fell backwards, landing outside of the mat. The buzzer went off and Aramis claimed his third victory. His place in the elimination round was all but guaranteed.

A comlink chirped from across the room and Kashtar watched as one of his friends answered. "They've announced your opponent for tonight," the Zygerrian announced.

"Who is it?" Kashtar asked.

"The Noghri."

Kashtar rubbed his forehead. This was bad. Aramis had been beaten to a pulp by the Noghri, only scoring a victory out of sheer luck. Kashtar knew, deep down inside himself, he wouldn't likely fare any better. "I want you to call the boss. Tell him to send the whole crew to the arena. And that they should bring their blasters."

oOoOo

Aramis stood in the locker room in the final stages of packing his duffel bag. His time in the medcenter had mostly healed his wounds from his bout with the Noghri, but he still felt stiff and tired. His fight with the Bothan hadn't helped, having to try to keep up with all that jumping around. And he still had two fights left. He didn't know if all of this trouble was worth it anymore. He no longer needed the prize money, and with Uraala hiring Exa Karr for surveillance on Lehal Jak, he could probably figure out a better way to cross paths with the human. But he was already in the tournament, and doing well at that. It would probably raise more questions if he suddenly dropped out than if he stayed in.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and entered the corridor which led to the back of the arena. As he walked down the hall, passing by a couple of janitor droids, his stomach rumbled. He felt like he was starving. With Uraala providing him access to credits he suddenly felt like splurging.

Suddenly his comlink beeped. "This is Aramis," he answered.

"Hey, it's me," Uraala said. "I need you to stay inside the arena."

"What? Why?"

"Just trust me," she answered. "Stay inside...away from the rear entrance, if possible."

"Okay," Aramis agreed.

"I'll call you back in a bit. If you hear blasters...well, there's no need to worry. I'm not doing the shooting or being shot at. I've got people for that."

"Okay, seriously, what's going on."

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just stick around for awhile and I'll come pick you up myself."

"Alright," Aramis said, his voice full of worry. Uraala hung up, leaving Aramis staring at the rear entrance. A lone security guard, a Gran, stood at the door, checking the credentials of a pair of Zabrak trainers. Aramis frowned, turned on his heel, and headed back into the arena. Looked like he would have to settle for the greasy fare they served at the arena's food stands. He passed by a Zygerrian, who eyed him conspicuously as he turned and took the stairs that led towards the public levels of the arena.

oOoOo

Kashtar followed his friends as the stepped out of the airspeeder. He was outside of the arena, between the grand entrance and the ticket office. There were twelve of them now, each one armed with a blaster concealed under their tunic. He had other members of his group inside the arena, watching the locker rooms. They had confirmed that the Noghri had not yet arrived at the arena. The group walked along the sidewalk between the huge outer wall of the arena and the parking lot. Soon they had reached the rear entrance.

"Spread out," Kashtar ordered. "Set to stun. We just need to keep him from arriving on time." The Zygerrians took up positions across the rear entrance. Some of them moved over to the arena's loading docks, which were located nearby. He began to head inside, as he didn't want to be seen in with the group in case someone spotted him and accused him of orchestrating a plot to sabotage his opponent.

Behind him he heard a low rumble as a large repulsor lift transport settled onto the duracrete parking lot situated behind the arena. He turned as over a dozen beings, mixed species but mostly Twi'leks, exited the vehicle. He didn't immediately identify them as a threat until the long cloak of one the beings blew open, revealing an automatic blaster rifle.

He didn't have time to shout a warning to his group before the sound of blasters erupted to life. The first two Zygerrians near the dumpster dropped dead, having no idea what hit them. The others began to return fire, a slight hesitation as they switched their blasters back to lethal settings.

Kashtar ducked as a bolt sailed overhead, striking against the side of the arena and showering him in duracrete debris. He tried to make for the door but one of his friends pushed him aside, firing a blaster pistol towards the enemy. The Zygerrian's chest exploded as he was struck, his body knocking Kashtar aside as he fell.

He scrambled for his fallen friend's blaster. He spun around and fired from a crouch, striking a male Twi'lek in the shoulder. More bolts came his way, striking the dumpster and showering him in sparks. He fired wildly towards his attackers until a bolt of energy finally struck him knocking him to the ground.

Kashtar fell to the ground but remained conscious. He crawled, using the claws on his fist to pull himself between the dumpster and the arena wall. He felt his upper chest, where the bolt had left a smoking hole. His breathing was painful but he would survive. _At least for the moment._ The sounds of the battle continued. Behind the dumpster he couldn't see what was going on but it didn't sound like his Zygerrians were winning.

Eventually the sounds of blasters ceased. He heard footsteps approaching and a Twi'lek appeared around the corner of the dumpster. Kashtar raised his pistol but had it immediately kicked from his hand. Another Twi'lek approached from behind and he felt the barrel of a blaster place itself against the back of his head.

"You should forfeit your remaining matches," the Twi'lek in front of him said, his skin tone featuring the rutian blue color. "If you're not off Malastare by the end of the week there will be a bounty placed on your head. Do you understand?"

Kashtar growled for a moment. The barrel of the blaster pressed against his head, painfully pushing into his skull. "Yes, fine!" he reluctantly agreed.

"Don't mess with the Aven family," the Twi'lek added. "You won't be warned again."

oOoOo

Aramis stood next to a small table in the arena's concourse, eating a bowl of fried chips with shredded nerf and hot sauce toppings. If the Jedi could see what he was eating they would surely be horrified. A general alert would have been sounded if anything like this had ended up in the Temple cafeteria.

He couldn't hear the sounds of blasters from this side of the arena, but he was alerted to the emergency by the dozens of security officers who came running past, worried expressions on their faces. The holographic displays in the concourse suddenly switched from the announcers discussing the upcoming bout to security footage from outside the arena. Aramis dropped the chip he nearly had in his mouth as a group of Zygerrians were cut down, one by one, by a group mostly made up of Twi'leks. He recognized Kashtar as the Zygerrian from his fight and watched as he was struck in the chest by a blaster bolt. He crawled out of view of the security cams, disappearing behind a dumpster.

People began shouting in alarm throughout the concourse, but Aramis couldn't spot any potential danger on this side of the building. The vidscreens returned to the announcers, who began assuring their viewers that security reinforcements were on their way to the arena.

Aramis felt his comlink beep. "What did you do?" he asked.

"What had to be done," Uraala answered. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the concourse, eating."

"I'll be there, just stay put."

Aramis waited impatiently, but she didn't keep him waiting long. Soon she appeared around the curve of the arena, wearing her customary fur coat, this time over a vest and khaki pants. Two other Twi'leks flanked her, one blue, one green.

"Hey," she said as she arrived at his table.

"What did you do?" Aramis repeated.

"I removed a threat," she said. "They were going to ambush you as you left the arena. Or maybe they were after the Noghri, it's hard to say."

"First strikes aren't my way," Aramis said. "How many of them did you have killed?"

"It's not a first strike," she shook her head. "They tried to take out Lehal Jak last night. And anyway, we left their ringleader alive, Kashtar I believe his name is. He won't be fighting in the tournament any longer, however."

"I guess you were justified…" he said slowly. "You could have told me beforehand though."

"I knew you wouldn't be happy about it, and I wanted you to focus on your fight," Uraala said with a shrug. She glanced at the Twi'leks guarding her. "You boys can take off. I'll be fine." They exchanged glances but nodded. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?" Aramis asked, not aware that he was making any look.

"That disapproving look. I know you may have forgotten because of my sweet exterior, but I am a gangster _pateesa._ You think my family built an empire by being nice to everyone? _"_

"No. But this is the first time you've ordered a hit since I've been around. I thought I might have been having a positive influence on you."

"It wasn't a hit," Uraala said, rolling her eyes. "I had my people come prepared for a fight, but I didn't know they would be armed like that. I wasn't here to kill Kashtar, just to scare him off."

"Did you lose anybody?"

"Three guys."

"Were they family?"

"One was a second cousin. Or a third cousin...I get families ties confused at that point. The other two were hired help."

"Sorry," he said.

"Growing up in this family, you get used to losing people," she said, sighing heavily. Aramis realized that the sigh was due to fatigue, and not grief. It was almost time for another of her treatments.

"Let's get out of here," Aramis said, abandoning the last of his chips. They made their way down the concourse. When they were out of view a hungry Dug jumped onto the table and stole the rest of his food.


	11. Malastare: Part VI

**Chapter Eleven**

A silver and green speeder came to a stop near the industrial district in Pixelito City's urban core. It was an aerodynamic, muscular looking vehicle. The outlines on the retractable blaster cannons were barely visible on the sides of the speeder, slight outlines that traced their way backward towards the swept-back wings.

Inside Exa Karr sat in the pilot's chair. "This is the place," he announced. Uraala leaned forward, gaining a view of the diner that sat squished between two foodstuff factories. It was a dirty, dingy location for a restaurant, but it didn't lack for customers. Workers would stream into the single story building every four hours as their shifts ended, day or night. It never closed.

"It doesn't look like much," she said.

"In areas like this, looks don't matter a whole lot," Exa said. "If their food is good, they'll be busy."

"It must be good then," Aramis said from the back of the speeder. He leaned forward, placing either hand on the plush leather of the front seats. "He jogs five kilometers here every morning."

"You'd think an athlete like him would want to avoid all the bad air," Uraala said, her nose wrinkling at the sulphuric smell of the factories.

"However it affects his lungs, he makes up for it in other ways," Aramis said with a shrug. "I'm going to head in."

"Call us if you need backup," Uraala said.

"I won't need any," Aramis said, shaking his head and popping open the rear door of the speeder. He stepped out onto the street, which was easy to cross as most of the traffic passed by overhead. The walls of the diner had once been painted white. Now, however, the soot that covered them rendered the building a dirty grey. The entrance consisted of a pair of double doors, painted bright red. Aramis pushed his way through and entered the diner.

The inside was a sharp contrast to the exterior. While the outside was dirty and dingy, the inside was clean and bright. Red and black leather booths lined the outer wall, workers eating their lunch sitting at most of them. A long bar ran down the forward wall, circular seats running the length of it. The bar was less crowded than the tables, enabling Aramis to quickly spot his target. Lehal Jak sat near the end of the bar, wearing a tight fitting jogging outfit, sweat glistening on his dark skin.

There was an empty seat next to the human fighter. Aramis approached carefully, keeping his emotional state as neutral as possible. He took the seat and motioned towards the waitress, a Gran woman who was busy taking the order of a pair of Dugs at the other side of the bar. The Dugs, a species who stood upright with their hands rather than their feet, appeared to be construction workers.

"Have you been following me?" Jak asked, his voice deep. He turned slightly towards Aramis, but did not face him.

"I've been having you followed," Aramis revealed. His instinct was that honesty would be the best policy. He did not know how advanced Jak's force sensitivity was, or if he had any skill at telepathy as most Jedi did. "But I haven't been doing the following myself."

"Studying your opponent?" Jak asked, finally turning to gaze at the blue skinned alien who addressed him. "I would think the fights streaming on the Holonet would be enough to form a strategy. I've been watching yours, Arayen. Four victories, one loss in the round-robin stage. An impressive record for a first time entrant. Seeing your resiliency in your previous matches, I was surprised when you forfeited against the Gamorrean."

"My true name is Aramis," he answered. "I'm just using Arayen as a stage name. The bout with the Gamorrean was the last match of the round-robin stage. I felt like saving myself from an unnecessary beating. Figured my record was already good enough to make the elimination round," Aramis said.

"Sure, but you ruined your perfect fight record. You'll never get it back," Jak said, frowning slightly.

"Your record isn't perfect, and you're a far superior fighter than I. I'm not much interested in records anyway."

"If you're not interested in your record, then why fight?"

"Why do you fight?"

"To pay the bills," Jak answered simply, turning away from him and taking a bite from his sandwich.

"That's one of the reasons I joined the tournament."

"And the other reason?"

Aramis paused before answering. The waitress arrived in front of him and he ordered nerf bacon with a side of eggs. When the waitress moved on he returned to the conversation. "To get closer to you. I haven't had you put under surveillance for the purposes of gaining an advantage against you. I put you under surveillance because I know why you are such an effective fighter."

"Oh? Why is that?" Jak asked casually. Aramis felt a slight tightening in the man's shoulders. He might not be able to read minds with the Force, but he could read body language with his eyes.

"You have extensive training in fighting techniques, as well as experience in dealing with your opponents, no matter what shape or size they are. Your reflexes are inhumanly fast. But you aren't actually breaking the limits of the human body. No, you're reacting _before_ your opponents, because you know what they are going to do before they know themselves. You have the Force."

Jak stood up, loudly knocking his ceramic plate aside. "Who are you? Are you with the Empire?"

"No. Absolutely not," Aramis said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'm guessing you can tell if I'm lying or not, whether I'm trying to deceive you?"

Jak nodded slightly after a very long hesitation.

"From what I can tell you've adapted the Jedi saber techniques for hand-to-hand combat. Something I've never seen before. Are you a Jedi?"

"No, I'm not," Jak shook his head. "Can you tell if I'm lying?"

"I don't have the Force like you do," Aramis said.

"But the way you move? Your reflexes are quicker than normal as well."

"That's hard to say," Aramis said, shrugging. "I'm not a human like you, my reflexes could naturally be faster. I don't know what is normal for my species."

"Which is...what? They never say where you're from on the tournament broadcasts."

"All that was required to enter the tournament is a five hundred credit entry fee and a physical exam. No background check," Aramis explained. "I don't know what the natural reflexes of my people are because I don't know what species I am."

"How is that possible? You're not a Pantoran?"

"No," Aramis said.

"You don't have the Force, which means you're not a Jedi. But you recognized where my fighting style came from," Jak said.

"Because, while I grew up and trained within the Jedi Order, I am not a Jedi. I was a security officer at the Temple before...well, before the Republic fell."

"I see," Jak said. "I understand why you spotted me, then. But what do you intend to do now?"

"You have the Force, but you aren't a Jedi. Yet your fighting style is based on Jedi teachings. I want to know how this is."  
"Okay, kid," Jak said, pausing to finish off the glass of water that sat beside his plate. "I can tell you're not lying, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to spill my secrets to you." Jak motioned to the waitress that he was ready to pay for his meal.

Aramis leaned forward. "There is a bounty on Jedi. This tournament is being broadcast all over the sector on the Holonet. All over the galaxy, even. There is a chance that someone else could make the same connection that I did. Mistake you for something that you aren't."

"I can handle myself."

"Not if the Empire comes calling," Aramis said grimly, his tone of voice giving Jak pause.

"Did you really grow up with the Jedi? Were you at the Temple when the Clones attacked it? That news was broadcast on all the unregulated Holonet feeds."

"I wasn't there when the initial attack happened, but I was there after. With some help I was able to liberate some Jedi belongings and escape Coruscant."  
"Why are you telling me this?" Jak asked. "If what you say is true then you're a wanted man. Entering the tournament is more of a risk for yourself than it is for me."

"That's true," Aramis agreed. "I'm telling you this because I want to gain your trust."

"Why? How do you know you can trust me?"

"I don't. But I decided to take a risk."

"I'll say," Jak said. "Look kid. The bracket for the tournament is going to be revealed tomorrow. You make it through until you face me. If you can beat me, then we can have another talk."

"Deal," Aramis nodded. Jak slapped him on the shoulder and departed. A moment later the waitress carried his food out from the kitchen. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his comlink.

"Do either of you want lunch?" he asked Exa and Uraala on the other end. "This place is surprisingly decent." The waitress must have overheard his comment, for her three eyes narrowed at him angrily.

"I'm not hungry," Uraala answered. Aramis frowned. She hadn't been eating much lately. "We've spotted Lehal Jak leaving the diner. Did you speak with him?"

"Yeah," Aramis answered simply.

"And?"

"I'll give you details later. First I'm going to eat my lunch. This looks _really_ delicious," he said loudly, making sure the waitress could hear his complement.

oOoOo

Aramis stood in a fighting stance inside of the gym owned by Uraala's family. He landed a jab against the punching bag, causing it to swing backwards on its chain, creaking loudly across the empty room. He held his hand up and caught the bag as it fell back to him. Beads of sweat dripped across his back and his head as he caught his breath. He wished that he had access to the records inside of the Jedi Temple. There he would've be able to run a search on Lehal Jak, and therefore discover what connection he might have to the Jedi Order for himself. He heard a door open from across the room and turned to find Exa Karr approaching, the Mandalorian wearing the same type of high class business suit he had worn the other day. Aramis wondered briefly if this was his idea of casual.

"Uraala didn't join you?" he asked.

"No, she didn't feel up to the trip," Exa said, his voice grim. The man held a lunchbox in one hand and a datapad in the other. "I've got the results of my research on your friend. And some food if you're hungry."

"I'm fasting," Aramis said. He gave the punching bag one last jab and then joined Exa Karr on the bench.

"Fasting the day before a fight? Is that a good idea?"

"I'm trying to strengthen my connection to the Force," Aramis said with a sigh. He reached beneath the bench and retrieved a water bottle hidden there, shooting a stream of cold water into his mouth.

"I didn't know you had the Force," Exa said, frowning. "Does that work? Fasting?"

"It used to," Aramis answered. "Sometimes. When I was a kid I used to be able to connect with the Force. But not anymore."

"I don't know a lot about Jedi," Exa said. He absentmindedly retrieved the vibroknife he kept in his pocket and began twirling the blade between his fingers. "But I didn't know that their connection to the Force can come and go."

"Until I came along I don't think they knew that either. A Jedi can lose their focus and find it more difficult to connect with the Force. But the Force doesn't actually leave them. It left me, slowly, over many years."

"So that's why you could never become a real Jedi," Exa said.

"Right," Aramis nodded. "But I still worked for the Order and lived in the Jedi Temple. I'm sure I would have been placedon the Empire's blacklist, regardless of my actions after the Republic fell."

"I'm surprised you're willing to talk about this with me. How do you know I won't betray you?"  
"Uraala vouched for you, that's why."

"I'm surprised you trust her that much, being the heir...former heir...of the Aven smuggling empire."

"I don't know why I trusted her so quickly. But I do. If I could still feel the Force I would say it was telling me to trust her."

"Well, your trust isn't misplaced. I've known her since before the Clone Wars. I would die for her."

"I'm surprised you feel that strongly about her and yet you seem to be okay with her being with someone that isn't you," Aramis said, frowning at the Mandalorian.

Exa ran the blade of his knife through his hair before responding. "We were together for awhile. I thought it was love, and it was, of a sort. I was a dumb kid, she took me in and gave me a future. But then I realized that, some day, I wanted to have little Exa Karrs running around. I also wanted to start my own company, outside of the Aven family. So our lives diverged. But we've stayed friends."

"She told me you served on her crew. Were you there when the accident happened? The accident that left her in her current condition."

"No, I'm afraid not," Exa said, his voice falling. "By then she'd branched out and was running several ships. I was captaining one of them for her."

"Kriff. I was hoping you could tell me more about it," Aramis said. "I want to know what it looked like, the energy that she got hit with."

"I don't know. But I do know that it never showed up on any scanner." Exa slapped the back of the datapad against Aramis' chest. "This isn't a social call. I know Uraala's got deep pockets, but I am billing by the hour. Why don't you take a look at your friend. If you've got questions, now is the time to ask."

Aramis took the datapad and began to read.

"By the way, they've released the bracket for the elemination round of the tournament. Your first match is against a Mandalorian."

Aramis glanced up from the datapad. "Do you know him?"

"No. He doesn't work for my company either. I know he's from clan Lok. His stage name, The Vindicator, is a reference to a Mand'alor from ancient times. Other than that I don't know anything about the guy."

"Where is Jak on the bracket?"

"On the same side as you. If you both win your first matches you will meet in the next round."

"Good," Aramis nodded. The quicker he could get out of this highly publicized tournament, the better.

oOoOo

The arena had received a makeover between the end of the preliminary rounds and the opening of the finals. Colorful holographic banners flew through the air, displaying cartoonish warriors dueling with hand and weapon. A huge band played out of one of the seating sections, filling the room with dramatic music.

Uraala descended the stairs towards the private balcony owned by her father on the upper level of the arena. She wore a silver dress, which reflected all of the colorful light glinting throughout the arena, making it seem like she wore an undulating rainbow. Her father descended with her, her arm in the crook of his, wearing an expensive robe in the style of their home planet, Ryloth. The red cloth was richly embroidered with black and gold thread, with his blue head tails draped over his shoulders, swirling black tattoos inked upon them.

Following them were the rest of the senior members of the family; Charro and his son Tyrapa, and lastly Uraala's aunt Virina and her husband. At the rear were several bodyguards. They filed into their suite, which was filled with plush leather divans rather than stiff plastoid seats like the lower levels of the arena. Uraala and her father took the two seats in the first row, leaving the other three to matching seats in the second.

"It looks like your boyfriend is going to be the fourth match," Palor said, staring at his daughter with an amused expression on his face.

She rolled her eyes in response. She had not made any sort of announcement regarding Aramis, but she decided it was futile to deny her interests in him. _But still_ …"He's not my boyfriend," she responded.

"First a Mandalorian, now a...what is he exactly? What is it you don't like about your own kind?" her father asked.

"I don't have anything against my own kind," Uraala answered, having to raise her voice so she could be heard over the music filling the arena.

Her father smirked. "Perhaps not. Maybe, as in all other things, you are attracted to the unusual and rare. You were like that even as a child."

"It's what made me such a good smuggler."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's also what caused your current...condition." An uncomfortable silence fell between them. The ceremonies ended and a Gran announcer took the stage. The opening match would be between the Gamorrean, the one that Aramis had conceded against, and a Zabrak. The combatants took the stage.

"As you all know, the rules in the finals are a little different," the announcer spoke. "The previous ban on aiming to kill is lifted. In addition, the winner of a coin toss may choose between unarmed combat or combat with a melee weapon of their choice."

Uraala watched on one of the holographic displays, which floated on repulsors near the ceiling of the arena, as the referee presented the coin to both combatants. She couldn't help but notice that the coin was an old Confederacy credit, a subtle dig at the Imperial government that been recently installed to control the sector. The top seeded fighter, the Gamorrean, chose the side of the coin and won the toss. The large, boar-like humanoid chose armed combat.

"A mistake," Palor said, shaking his head. He glanced at his daughter. "Do you know why?"

"The Gamorrean wants to increase his perceived advantage by using his species' signature vibro-axe. But he has actually nullified his natural size advantage by allowing his opponent to use a weapon as well," Uraala answered.

"Correct," Palor said, nodding. The Zabrak chose a spear and the two combatants bowed, signalling the beginning of the match. "Sometimes, when you seek to press your advantage, you can unknowingly empower your opponent." The match didn't last long. The Gamorrean began with a flurry of power swings with his axe, which the tan skinned Zabrak had no choice but to dodge. As soon as the Gamorrean began to tire the Zabrak ducked under a wild swing, plunged his spear into his opponents rib cage, and then backed away. The Gamorrean conceded the match as he slumped to the floor, allowing medical staff to hurry to him in an attempt to save his life.

oOoOo

Inside one of the tunnels the led to the locker-rooms Aramis looked on. He could see his opponent, The Vindicator, leaning against the wall of an identical tunnel on the other side of the arena. He wondered what his options would be if the Mandalorian chose to use weapons.

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching from behind and he turned to find Lehal Jak moving towards the tunnel's entryway.

"I'm up next," Jak said, keeping his eyes on the stage as two medical droids lifted the Gamorrean off of the floor.

"If you lose before I can beat you, I win our bet," Aramis said, finally gaining Jak's gaze.

"Whatever you say kid," Jak said with a shrug. He moved aside, allowing the medical droids carrying the wounded Gamorrean and a pair of medics to pass by. "I think this bet is a little one sided. What do I get if I win, or if the Mandalorian beats you?"

"I can tell you about the Jedi. Fill in the gaps in your knowledge."

Jak looked at him in surprise. "What makes you think I would want that?"

"We're both rejects in regards to the Jedi. I got the training but not the talent. You got the opposite. I don't think it's a coincidence, our meeting here."

"Did the Force tell you that?"

"I'm sure it would, if I could feel it," Aramis said, his voice carrying a note of sadness.

Jak was unable to respond as the announcer began to call him and his opponent to the stage.

"Good luck," Aramis said as the human took off and entered the arena, earning a sarcastic smirk in response. "May the Force be with you," he added after Lehal Jak was out of earshot.


	12. Malastare: Part VII

**Chapter Twelve**

The Star Destroyer _Exactor_ hung high above Kashyyyk, unleashing streams of bright green turbolaser down into the upper atmosphere of the green planet. The blasts swept across the massive forests, immolating the sacred ground of the Wookies. Observing the destruction from above, Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, stood resolute at the forward viewport of the bridge as squadrons of V-wings roared past.

The Empire's subjugation of Kashyyyk was largely complete. The Wookies had rebelled against the clones occupying their world, even going so far as to harboring a handful of Jedi who had escaped the purge. The Wookies had discovered, in an example for the rest of the galaxy, the price of insurrection in this new Imperial era. The galaxy, and the Empire's own troops for that matter, had discovered first hand what Darth Vader was capable of. So had the Emperor himself. Vader understood the irony of his first mission as Supreme Commander of Imperial Forces. The former Tatooine slave boy, newly minted Sith Lord, enslaving an entire planet. The Emperor was clearly testing his commitment to the New Order. His apprentice had made sure to pass the test.

Vader glanced down at his black suit, now battle tested for the first time. The suit was a prison, he knew. The price of his failure on Mustafar. The Emperor had spared no expense, ensuring the suit would keep Vader's mangled body alive. Alive, but not well. The joints pinched his seared flesh everytime he moved. Needles penetrated his torso, delivering nutrients and medication, but also pain. The respiratory system helped him breath, but not without a significant amount of wheezing that everyone around him could hear. After witnessing the startling cybernetic advancement of the Separatist General Grievous' body first hand, he found this suit's crudenes to be...maddeningly insulting.

Vader felt the presence of a lieutenant approach from behind through the Force. He could sense the man's fear so strongly he could taste it. He turned to find a pale, brown haired man holding a datapad, nervous sweat trickling down his neck.

"Lord Vader, the report you asked for," the lieutenant said, offering the datapad. Vader took it and said nothing, dismissing the officer with a wave of his hand.

The datapad contained a medical report, one he had ordered from the _Exactor's_ medical staff. He did not trust the Emperor's willingness to share information on the health of his own body, and so he had ordered a report of his own. Beheading the _Exactor's_ chief medical officer had been a quick way to ensure the discretion of the rest of the staff.

He examined the report, and would have visibly scowled if his mask didn't hide his scarred face. It confirmed everything he feared. His suit merely kept him alive, it did not heal him. And that survival would not be permanent. As Vader drew upon the dark side his body would decay. After Mustafar that decay already had a head start. If things continued like that he would soon find it difficult to draw on the Force at all, no matter how much rage he fueled the furnace of the Dark Side with. He went to the bottom of the report. Based on his rate of cellular decay he had five years, at best.

Now Darth Vader understood. The Emperor had chosen him, and he had failed. This suit was meant to prolong his life just long enough for the Emperor to find a replacement as his apprentice. He was now a placeholder Sith. Just like Dooku had been before him. Vader clenched his fist, crushing the datapad in his grip.

He turned from the viewport and found the captain of the ship, who was observing the bombardment on the catwalk above one of the crew pits. The man turned at Vader's approach, his body stiffening into a military salute.

"Lord Vader?" the captain asked, his voice quivering ever so slightly.

"Captain Timorr. Order your intelligence officers to compile a report. I want a profile of the most advanced...and experimental...medical research facilities in the galaxy. Narrow the profile to those unconnected to the Imperial government."

"Very well," the man nodded. "It will be done."

Vader turned away and began to walk towards the rear of the bridge. If this campaign of subjugation on Kashyyyk was a test of his commitment, and his battle with those Jedi survivors a test of his crippled abilities, this suit was a test of his survival. If he wanted to remain the Emperor's apprentice, and eventually grow strong enough to replace him, he had to find his own way. No one else would do it for him. As the Sith holocrons his master had provided had instructed, an individual deserves only what they are strong enough to take.

Vader exited the bridge, his black cape swirling behind him.

oOoOo

Aramis stepped out into the arena and headed stiffly towards the center of the stage, a roar from the crowd greeting him. From the other side the Vindicator mirrored him, walking out stiffly and ignoring the cheers of the crowd. But whereas Aramis was nervous in front of so many people, the Vindicator was putting on a show. The huge, muscular Mandalorian was a head taller than Aramis, who was not so short himself. The Vindicator wore a tight, athletic bodysuit, which hugged his skin and showed off his musculature. As the two combatants grew closer to together Aramis realized that the bodysuit had lines sewn into it, imitating the battle armor of a Mandalorian warrior. The Vindicator looked down at Aramis and smirked as the two met the referee in the middle of the stage.

"Alright, we're ready to begin the third and final bout of the night," the Gran referee announced, his voice booming throughout the arena's speakers. The referee held out a coin, a now worthless credit featuring the crest of Confederacy of Independent Systems. "The Vindicator, with the superior record in the round robin stage of the tournament, gets to call heads or tails."  
"Heads," the Vindicator said, his deep voice echoing like thunder. The referee threw the coin into the air and caught it in the palm of his hand. He revealed it slowly, showing the face of Count Dooku to the combatants.

"Heads it is," he shouted. "Weapons or no?"  
"Weapons," the Vindicator growled, a sinister smile spreading across his face as he stared at Aramis. "I'll take twin vibroswords."

"And your choice?" the referee asked Aramis. He gazed at the Vindicator, not impressed by the man's vicious grin. With the imitation armor the man wore, and his Mandalorian accent, he couldn't help but be reminded of the clone troopers who killed so many of his friends.

"Bo staff. Wooden," Aramis answered.

"I'm sorry," the referee said, taken aback. "Did you say wooden? Against vibroswords?"

"That's right," Aramis nodded.

The referee squinted at the blue alien with his three eye stalks, in an apparent attempt at reading Aramis' body language. "Very well," he answered finally. "Please wait one moment as we bring out your weapons. If you could take your positions…"  
"I'll kill you quick," the Vindicator said, laughing as he turned his back on Aramis and found his mark. Aramis frowned as he turned and found his. He waited as the tournament staff went through the virtual armory they kept backstage. He tried not to think about all of the people in the audience staring at him. He knew Uraala was amongst them.

Finally a pair of tournament officials appeared onstage, carrying weapons appropriate for each combatant. The Vindicator received his vibroswords, and Aramis his bo staff. He took the weapon from the official and gave it a quick twirl. It was a quality staff, on par with what he had trained with at the Jedi Temple. The staff was made of a blonde hued wood, with red accents. He flipped it around, finding that it was slightly longer than the height of his body. It also possessed a good balance between hardness and flexibility. It would do.

The Vindicator twirled his vibroswords menacingly, that stupid smirk still playing out on his face. For his part Aramis remained impassive. He tuned out the crowd and focused on his opponent. The bell rang, a high tone that signalled the beginning of the bout.

The Vindicator rushed towards Aramis, closing the tens of meters between them in a matter of seconds. Aramis stepped back, receiving his rushing opponent with a calm that bordered on serenity. The Mandalorian swung outwards with both swords.

Aramis spun his staff and his body, avoiding the blades and stepping aside. The Vindicator twirled as well, with grace and speed that seemed surprising given his build and demeanor. He slashed outwards with one blade and downwards with the other. Aramis parried the outwards slash, smacking the side of the blade with his staff and then twirling it to knock away the other.

Aramis carefully kept his distance as the Vindicator ran through a series of lightning fast attacks. He parried any attack that posed a threat with the the smallest possible movement of his staff. And he did so in such a way as to avoid the edges of the vibroswords, preventing them from damaging his weapon. Aramis watched his opponents movements and smiled, earning a furious charge from the Mandalorian. He jumped and twirled away, leaving his opponent frustrated.

As a youngling Aramis had trained with the Jedi children who had passed their initiate trials. While the initiates mostly practiced their combat training against each other, they also spent some time testing their skills against those who used more conventional weapons. After all, a Jedi would not be expected to face only those who also wielded the lightsaber. Those who were like Aramis, who had not passed the trials, served as the opposition force. Compared to those initiates, who were strong in the Force, the Vindicator was slow and clumsy.

"Why don't you stop dancing and fight me," the Vindicator growled.

"As you wish," Aramis said. He dashed towards the Mandalorian, avoiding a quick slash meant to behead him with a quick step sideways. He twisted his staff backwards, catching the Vindicator in the forearm with the trailing end and fracturing the bones within. One vibrosword fell from the Mandalorian's grip as the Vindicator cried out in pain.

Aramis did not hesitate. He dropped down beneath a retaliatory strike and smacked the Vindicator in the knee. The Mandalorian cried out and fell to the side. Aramis spun his staff and swung outwards, knocking the other vibrosword aside and then smacking his opponent in the ribs. The Vindicator crumpled to the floor.

Aramis backed away and kicked the vibroswords out of reach. "Yield," he ordered.

"Go vape yourself," the Vindicator growled between gritted teeth.

In an instant Aramis struck him in the side of the head with his staff, knocking the man unconscious but not killing him. The match was over. The crowd roared as he stood over his defeated opponent.

Aramis turned as the announcer rushed onto the mat and rose his hand into the air. "Congratulations on your victory," the Gran said loudly for the whole arena to hear. "Any words for our audience?"

Aramis blinked rapidly, attempting to keep sweat from dripping into his eyes. None of his combat training at the Jedi Temple had involved post match interviews.

"Can I keep the bo staff?" he asked awkwardly.

oOoOo

In the v.i.p section of the arena's stands Charro Aven rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had been hoping that the Mandalorian would've sliced Uraala's pet into pieces, but alas, Arayen had dispatched The Vindicator with relative ease.

Charro glanced down to the front row, where his brother and niece were happily discussing the positive outcome of the bout. The only thing that made him happy was Uraala's fatigued state. She clearly wasn't getting any better, despite the inordinate amount of money his brother was spending on her treatment. Soon Palor would have no choice but to name Tyrapa as the heir to the family business. If he didn't...he glanced at his younger sister, Virina, and her husband, who set a few seats down in the same row as him. Her pregnancy was in its final stages. It was possible that Palor could choose Virina as the heir. Her child would then become the next successor. Charro frowned. Did his brother truly dislike his son that much?

Charro exited his seat and found his son, Tyrapa, discussing the evening's matches with one of his friends, a young Twi'lek teenager whose family was distantly related but subservient to the Avens.

"...don't feel too bad he beat you up," the teenager was saying. "The guy is clearly a galaxy class pro."

"I don't feel bad," Tyrapa replied. "It's just my kriffing cousin could've warned me before putting me on the mat with him."

"Son," Charro said, interrupting their conversation with a look towards the teenager that dismissed him instantly.

"What's up?" Tyrapa asked, slightly annoyed at his father's interruption. Charro put his hand on his son's shoulder and steered him up the stairs until they were safely out of hearing range from the rest of the family.

"Do you truly want to inherit the family empire?" Charro asked.

"Are you kidding?" Tyrapa asked, almost laughing. When he realized his father was serious his smile vanished. "Of course I do." He lowered his voice. "But uncle is never going to let that happen. Even when Uraala dies…."

"Yes, he could just pass it off to your aunt."

"She isn't qualified. Has Virina ever got her hands dirty?"

"Don't underestimate your aunt, son. She runs the legit side of the business just as ruthlessly as Palor and I run the rest of it. She's the one responsible for the entire businesses' finances. She could destroy with a transaction more than we could with a hundred hired blasters."

"So what are we going to do? Live forever in their shadows?"

Charro glanced around carefully, making sure their conversation was safely out of earshot. "I think its time we look into the origin of your cousin's pet. She transferred his ship to one of our hangars. Why don't you take some of your friends there and have a look."

"Okay," Tyrapa agreed. "But what about the dock workers. They'll rat on us to Uraala. Did you see what she did to those Zygerrians?"

"You let me worry about that, son," Charro said. "Take care of it tonight."

oOoOo

Aramis walked through the back corridors of the arena, beneath the stands. Whatever staff he encountered gave him a wide berth. It seemed that his latest victory had earned him a certain amount of fear. He found his way to the locker room area, finding it empty. His bout had been the last of the evening and the other fighters had already cleared out. With one exception. On a bench on the other side of the room sat Lehal Jak's duffel bag. A doorway at the back of the locker room led to the showers, and Aramis could hear one of them running.

Aramis shed his white tunic, which was drenched with sweat. He placed the bo staff against the locker next to his and grabbed a towel, drying himself off. The announcer had said he could keep the staff, but that they would subtract its costs from his winnings. He couldn't tell if he had been joking or not.

He heard the showers go out and quickly put on his pants before Jak emerged from the others. The older human wore a towel around his waist, revealing his lean musculature.

"I saw your fight," Jak said, removing his towel and beginning to don the clothing he removed from his bag. "I thought you would have a tougher time with that guy."

"He should've chose hand-to-hand combat," Aramis said. "I would have had trouble dealing with his size and strength advantage."

"He wanted to slice you up. I'm sure he wished he could have gotten away with killing all of his opponents in the round robin stage," Jak said. The human seemed to be appraising Aramis as he put on his shirt. He could feel a tingling in the back of his mind. Jak was attempting to probe him with the Force.

"I trained against Jedi," Aramis said. "Compared to them...everyone else is an amatuer."

"Did you ever beat one of them in a duel?" Jak asked.

"No. Never," Aramis said without bitterness. "Not even in two on one trials. I never stopped trying though. I trained in every technique available, mastered more styles and weapons than any Jedi ever would need to study." He glanced at Jak with a knowing gaze. "But there are some things no amount of training will allow you to beat."

"I don't know about that…"

"But if victory is impossible then one should seek to manage defeat. You survive defeat, learn from it, and come back stronger than before."

"Aren't you a little font of wisdom," Jak said sarcastically, but not without understanding.

"Being raised by Jedi will do that to you," Aramis said, shrugging. "I didn't just learn combat techniques, by the way. I also learned to resist mind probes…"

"I wasn't probing…" Jak said defensively, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Or you weren't aware that you were," Aramis said. "You don't have full control over your powers."

"...no amount of reading substitutes for a real teacher," Jak said.

"I could be your teacher," Aramis said. "I didn't move on in my Jedi training, but I received all of the basics as a youngling. I still remember what the Force felt like. I remember every lesson about it that I received. Even after I was rejected I still had access much of the Archives..."

"I get it kid, your knowledgeable," Jak interrupted. "I can't deny that I want very much what you have to offer. But if the Jedi rejected me what place do you have to second guess their decision?"

"The Jedi are gone. I think its pretty clear that their decision making process was far from perfect," Aramis said, not without a degree of sadness.

"True," Jak admitted.

"Why did they reject you for training? It was clearly not because you couldn't touch the Force," Aramis asked.

"I was 'too old for training'. They didn't discover me until I was nine years old," Jak revealed.

"Which is code for your familial attachments being too strong to rip you from your family," Aramis said. He couldn't help but think of one Anakin Skywalker, one of the most famous Jedi during the Clone Wars. The Jedi had made an exception for him. He wondered why they hadn't made the same exception for Jak, and how many countless others like him.

"Yeah, I get that now," Jak said. "I wonder why they thought it was better to leave people like me out in the universe instead of training us up. Would we not be less likely to fall to the Dark Side with Jedi training than without."

"Maybe," Aramis said. If Jak knew about the Dark Side then he wasn't completely uneducated about the Force. Whatever resources the human had found were more extensive than he might have thought. "But if someone is pre-destined to fall to the Dark Side, they would be far more dangerous with Jedi training than without."

"Fair point," Jak admitted. He zipped up his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder. The human's expression suddenly changed. Aramis couldn't read minds but it looked like he had made a decision. "Our bet is off. I want all the training you're willing to offer."

Aramis suddenly became suspicious off the sudden change of heart. "Okay. But what are you going to do with that training? I'm not going to just help you become a better fighter so you can win more tournaments."  
"I don't care about winning tournaments," Jak said. "After this tournament, I'm done. Why do I want your training? I'll tell you why...I sat out the Clone Wars. The Jedi didn't want me, and I didn't like how corrupt the Republican had become. The Core has been pushing around the rimward worlds for generations. But the Separatists...they were led by psychotic maniacs. I was glad when they announced that the Separatist Council had surrendered. I was glad when the war was over. I could feel every battle in the Force like raging fire. The Empire has put out that fire but replaced it with…"  
"A cancer," Aramis said. "A cancer that will slowly strangle the galaxy until it is permanent darkness."

"Exactly," Jak nodded. "Without the Jedi there is nobody around to keep the darkness in check. Somebody will have to step up...perhaps if they had chosen to keep me I would be just another dead Jedi. But now, maybe I can do so good."

"That is exactly my feeling," Aramis said, smiling.

"But first, I'm going to kick your teeth in," Jak said.

"Wait...what?"

"We're to face each other in the next round. Our bout will be scheduled for the weekend. I'm to fight you, and I'm going to beat you. But I want you to come at me with everything that you've got," Jak said, his voice growing deeper with resolution.

"Hmph," Aramis grunted. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of going back out in front of that crowd. "I suppose it would be a good way to figure out where you are at compared to a Jedi initiate…"

"And if you manage to beat me," Jak began. "What did you say about defeat?"

"You survive it. Learn from it. Come back stronger than before," Aramis repeated.

"Exactly," Jak nodded. "I'll see you this weekend kid. Bring your 'a' game."

"I will," Aramis said as Jak exited the locker room. The human raised his hand in a gesture of farewell as he turned the corner and disappeared.


	13. Malastare: Part VIII

**Chapter Thirteen**

Malastare's sun faded through the narrow spaces between Pixelito cities' downtown high rises, peeking out from beneath a thin layer of cloud cover. Aramis piloted Uraala's green and silver speeder towards the eastern side of the city where Malastare Medical Corps' clinic was located. The orange sunlight glinted of the exterior of the speeder. Aramis couldn't help but notice that the light seem brighter and more vibrant than on Coruscant. There was much less smog for the light to fight through.

Uraala sat in the passenger seat next to him, sleeping peacefully. Her complexion was palid, her blue skin pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes. The increased concentration of the clinic's treatment program, which at first seemed to be more effective, was no less so. But all hope was not lost. According to Hilgal, the Mon Calamari doctor in charge of Uraala's treatment, they were ready to try a new regime of treatment. Aramis, as he lowered the speeder's altitute, cast quick, nervous glances at the sleeping Twi'lek beside him. He couldn't help but feel that, since the source of her illness had come from a Force-based incident, the ultimate cure would also be based in the Force. He very much wished that he could take her to the Jedi Order, whose healers had been amongst the best in the galaxy. But like the Republic they had served, the Jedi were no more.

Aramis spotted the three-story clinic from above and descended, landing in a parking lot next to it. The factories just a few blocks down the street were silent...the labor unions were protesting the Imperial nationalization of some of Malastare's major manufacturing concerns. The iron grip of the Empire, which had seemed so quiet in this part of the galaxy as Imperial forces consolidated power elsewhere, had arrived. Aramis reached over, overcoming his shyness, and gently prodded Uraala. She awoke slowly, but that mischievous grin she adopted around him arrived immediately.

"We're here," Aramis announced.

"Good," she said, releasing a long yawn. She stretched her arms over her head. She wore a heavy leather jacket, with a thick fur inlay. Apparently winter was beginning to arrive on Malastare, although Aramis still felt that is was warmer than what he was used to. He also suspected that Uraala felt the chill more than most did. "I'm not quite ready to go in yet," she said.

"Hilgal said they are going to try a new treatment this time. Direct injection instead of the bath. It should be a lot quicker," Aramis said.

"You don't know how many times I've heard that 'new treatment' mantra," Uraala said wearily. She lowered her arms and placed on hand on Aramis' forearm. He couldn't help but tense up a bit at her touch. "Can I ask you a question?"  
"Sure," he answered.

"Your life at the Jedi Temple...did you live like a monk?"

"Pretty much," Aramis answered. "The Temple allowed very few personal items in your dorm room."

"What about the rules on...attachments? Did you have to take a vow of chastity or something?"

"What?" Aramis said, feeling a little vulnerable from this line of questioning. "Like a vow of chastity?" Uraala nodded. "No," he said. "The stricter rules of the Jedi only apply to Jedi. But there are rules against fraternization amongst the security staff and other service departments. Which are who you are surrounded by on a daily basis…"

"So...you've never been with a member of the opposite gender. Intimately," Uraala said, grinning at the visible discomfort she was causing Aramis.

"Well, no," Aramis answered after a moment of hesitation. He had slept next to Uraala multiple times in the last couple of weeks. Whatever temptation he had felt to get closer, whatever temptation he knew Uraala felt, her poor health had stood in the way.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I hope we can fix that, someday."  
"I never thought of that as something that needed 'fixing'," Aramis said stubbornly.

"Trust me," she said, squeezing his forearm. "You'll change your tune."

"Can we go in now," Aramis said, trying desperately to change the subject. His blue skin had gone a slightly redder hue.

"Sure," Uraala said. "I will allow you to escape, for now." She squeezed his forearm once more and then got out of the speeder, wobbling slightly. Aramis got out and hurried to her side, taking her arm in his.

They entered the clinic, as usual, after normal business hours. There was only one other occupant of the waiting room, a hammer-headed Ithorian who was waiting for another patient to finish their appointment. Hilgal was already in the room, waiting for them. She held a datapad in the crook of her arm, her prosthetic hand and its many fingers rapidly typing away at it.

"Ah, you're here at last," she said. Her prominent, bulbous eyes narrowed on Uraala. "Your fatigue seems to have become worse."

"It's always the same," Uraala said. "I feel better after treatment for a few hours, and then the relief fades."

"I hope we will have better luck with this new treatment," Hilgal said. Uraala glanced at Aramis. He did not possess Jedi telepathy but he could almost feel her thinking 'I told you so.'

Hilgal led them from the waiting room, through the main corridor, and into the higher security examination rooms. They did not enter the large room containing the immersion pool. Instead they entered an adjoining room.

The room was not large. It consisted of a bed for the patient, a work desk for the doctor, and a large holoscreen on the wall. Aramis planted himself in the corner and stood attentive as Uraala took the bed. She quickly shed her heavy jacket. Hilgal adjusted the settings on the rooms computer terminal and then left the room. A moment later she returned, carrying a reinforced security case. Aramis was struck with a sudden feeling of unease.

"As you know we have been planning a direct injection treatment program," Hilgal began. "This has been our ultimate goal from the beginning. The baths have been a temporary treatment, allowing us to perfect concentration methods and test on non-sentient lifeforms. While it has been difficult to recreate the symptoms of your disease, the side-effects were generally within expected parameters."  
Aramis' brows raised at that. What were 'expected parameters'?

Hilgal placed a thumb on matte black section on the case's exterior. An inner light shone from beneath the black and the case promptly unlocked itself. Aramis's sense of unease grew.

"The security scanner is tuned to your thumbprint," the Mon Calamari doctor said, nodding towards Uraala, "and mine." She opened the case. Inside were six vials, attached to long syringes. The vials shone with an inner light which seemed to shift between blue and white. Sometimes little hints of red flickered within, so quickly that Aramis couldn't tell if it wasn't a trick of his eye. She pushed the case towards Uraala, allowing her to examine the instruments.

Aramis's feeling of unease grew until he began to feel physically ill. The sensation he was feeling reminded him of the baths that Uraala had been taking. He had thought that he had been feeling the Force from that strange mixture, something he had not felt since being in the presence of that mysterious tree deep within the Jedi Temple. He felt it once again, but this time the sensation felt twisted. Unnatural.

"This is the same mixture as the bath?" Uraala asked, taking one of the vials from the case and examining it.

"Similar," Hilgal said. "We obtained...access...to the highly secretive Bacta production methods of the Vratix. We were able to produce small doses of an altered end-product by spiking the Xoorzi fungus with glitterstim."

Once again Aramis felt alarmed. Glitterstim was a highly illegal narcotic. It was most commonly used in the manufacture of the hallucogenic Death Stick drug.

"We've eliminated the nanites used in the immersion bath. The unique version of bacta we've created is absorbed much more quickly throughout the body, rendering them unnecessary."

Uraala seemed satisfied with Hilgal's answer. Aramis, however, was not. Death Sticks were known to have the effect of deadening the Force Sensitivity of the user. In most people such a side effect would be unnoticed. In a Jedi, or even someone with borderline sensitivity such as himself, the effect would be the user temporarily being cut off from the Force. He could not explain why such a product that used glitterstim in its manufacture could put off a Force Aura so strong even he could sense it.

"There's something you're not telling us," Aramis said at last. Uraala, who had been staring at the vial she held during Hilgal's explanation, seemed to jump at his voice. He couldn't help but notice her head tails twitching with excitement. If the direct injection method worked she would be free from the baths. She would be free to roam more than a few hours travel from the clinic. As long as she had enough vials she could even leave Malastare for the first time since becoming sick. This new treatment, if it worked, represented a freedom she hadn't possessed in over a year.

"You're aren't the patient," Hilgal said, her demeanor becoming slightly angry. She had never been pleased at Aramis's presence, but had suffered no choice but to allow it. The Mon Calamari doctor, and her superiors at Malastare Medical Corp, would not risk the Aven families' displeasure. "You are not entitled to questions."

Uraala glanced at Aramis. She seemed surprised at the level of concern playing out across his face and body. His arms were crossed over his chest. "Any question from him comes from me," Uraala said. She smiled over at him.

Hilgal shifted uncomfortably. "The other main ingredient, which serves as an amplifier for the bacta's healing properties, is powdered kyber crystal."

"It's what?!" Aramis practically shouted. Kyber crystal was the gemstone that powered every Jedi's lightsaber. The kyber crystal served as a personal connection to the Force between the blade and its owner. To the Jedi, the Kyber crystal was sacred.

"Powdered kyber crystal," Hilgal repeated. "Kyber is a rare mineral, said to have various extraordinary properties."

"You're right it is," Aramis said angrily. "The Jedi use them in their lightsabers. Every known Kyber mine is a restricted location. Protected. How did you get access to it?"

"How did you know that?" Hilgal asked, her eyes now narrowing on Aramis.

"Aramis…" Uraala said, momentarily forgetting to use his cover name. She warned him with her eyes.

"I...went to a good school," Aramis said at last. "Read a lot of holobooks." Hilgal seemed entirely unconvinced by his answer.

"Will it work?" Uraala asked carefully. She still held one of the syringes, although much more warily than before.

"Like I said before, it was difficult to replicate the symptoms of your illness among test subjects. But the healing factor of the animals and their receptiveness to bacta increased, which bodes well. Side effects were also within acceptable parameters."  
"What do you mean by that?" Aramis asked brusquely.

"There were slight behavioral changes. Mostly consistent with addiction. We believe the addiction was of the euphoria the treatment produced, the increased biological function, and not towards the drug itself. But...this is a highly experimental treatment. I really can make no promises of any kind."

"If it helps with my symptoms, if it frees me from having to be close to the clinic...I have to try it," Uraala said, looking towards Aramis. "You remember our deal?"

Aramis though back to the other night. Uraala had reached her breaking point, but he had urged her to continue fighting. With his support. He looked back at her, not be able to help but notice the worn down state of her body. If powdered kyber crystal could help save a life was it not a good use for the substance. But why did it feel so wrong in the Force?

"I remember," he said at last. "I'll always support you, no matter what. That won't stop me from worrying though. I just know that whatever that stuff in the syringe is, it was cleared by any health board."

"No. But if I had stuck to only what medical options were legal I would be dead already," Uraala said. "But if I had someone like you back then, warning me of danger that I was willing to ignore, maybe I wouldn't have become like this at all." She looked towards Hilgal. "So, how does this work?"

"You may inject anywhere in the body," the doctor answered. "You need not find a blood vein. The bacta inside means no sterilization is necessary." Hilgal turned towards the computer terminal in the room, making sure the hidden sensors were recording all of Uraala's vital signs.

Uraala used a finger to flick the soft plastoid protector from the tip of the needle. She glanced at Aramis, who was trying his best to hide his worried expression. Finally she closed her eyes and plunged the needle into her arm. With a button press on the base of the syringe the glowing liquid solution entered her body.

She kept her eyes closed, but her body seemed to sit more upright. The pallid complexion of her skin seemed wane immediately. When her eyes opened she seemed infused with a new energy. "Wow," she said.

"How do you feel?" Hilgal asked, her artificial fingers hovering over her datapad, ready to take notes.

"Like I just shot a double espresso of caf directly into my arm," Uraala answered, smiling. She placed the emptied syringe on the table next to the bed. She rotated the arm she had injected and held it over her head. Whatever brief pain the needle had caused had already vanished. She stood and stretched. "I feel like I want to run, like I want to jump into the arena and take over your fight," she added, glancing at Aramis.

"Good," Hilgal said. "The reagent is already affecting your bodies' energy levels, which have been depressed for so long that normal feels extraordinary. Cellular repair will likely take longer, so, despite your energy levels, I would refrain from physical exertion for the time being."  
Uraala eyed Aramis, making him feel briefly nervous. He had a good idea what kinds of physical exertions she was thinking about.

"How long should I go between doses?" Uraala asked.

"That remains to be seen," Hilgal anwered. "We don't know how long the healing effects will last. Repeated dosage over a period of time may cure you completely. I would not take another injection until you been showing advanced signs of fatigue. I don't know what the effects of over dosage would be."

"An over dosage of healing doesn't sound so bad," Uraala said with a shrug.

"An over dose of the Force certainly can be…" Aramis said quietly to himself.

Uraala took the case of syringes and closed it. "Well, this one has a fight tomorrow morning. We should probably be going."

"That is fine," Hilgal said, nodding. "I have a lot of new data to analyze. Since initial results seem to be positive we will begin production of an additional run. Depending on how long the effects last, we can likely produce a month's supply within the week.

Uraala smiled. Aramis knew she liked the idea of a month of complete freedom from the clinic. "Good. I'll let my father know his investment has been worthwhile."

"We would appreciate that," Hilgal said, nodding respectfully.

oOoOo

The bustle of Pixelito city subsided only slightly during the nighttime hours. There was too much traffic at the spaceport as freighters of all sizes dropped off or picked up their cargo for the city to go completely quiet. There was always starship traffic as Malastare was one of the most important worlds in the Mid Rim and one of the busiest stops along the Hydian Way trade route.

But away from the main spaceport complex, at the outskirts of the city, lay another spaceport. This one was smaller, although it shared the concentric circle design. It was officially designated as Auxiliary Complex 11, and, on official government documents, it was listed as an overflow facility in case the hangars at the main complex became too full. But in reality Auxiliary Complex 11 was a shadowport, a safe haven for smugglers, pirates, and all other ships that sought to avoid legal scrutiny. A shadowport that was owned by the Aven family smuggling empire.

Auxiliary Complex 11 sat atop a cliff, at the bottom of which lay a series of industrial facilities. Circular landing platforms hung off the side the cliff like leaves of a clinging plant. The sky above the complex was partially overcast. Thin clouds traversed in the wind, the twinkling stars high above fading in and out of view like fireflies in the night.

A series of bright lights appeared in the sky and ripped through the thin cloud cover. A series of five box-shaped airspeeders descended towards one of the central landing platforms, their engines roaring loudly. Stubby landing legs extended from beneath the craft as they settled onto the platform. Loading ramps fell and from each speeder a group of Gran mercenaries emerged, each of them carrying heavy blasters. There were more than thirty of them in all. Some of them wore helmets that obscured their faces. Most did not.

The group quickly strode across the platform and arrived at the huge durasteel doors that marked the entrance into this platform's hangar complex. As they neared the door a protocol droid waddled towards them, his hands raised in order to get their attention.

"Hello, sirs and madams," the droid said in polite Basic. "The dockmaster has not been informed of your arrival. As I'm sure you are aware, due to the...sensitivity...of this complex's storage facilities, after hours business must be approved beforehand." The mercenaries smiled at the droid in amusement, but did not raise their blasters. Not yet.

One of the mercenaries, the leader, stepped forward, bringing a plastoid datacard out of one of the pockets of his combat suit. He handed the card to the droid and waited.

"Ah, I see," the droid said, his visual scanners quickly confirming the card's authenticity. "Associates of the Aven family are always welcome. You may enter." The enormous durasteel doors split in two and opened, revealing the cavernous hangar that lay beyond.

"Much obliged," the Gran said, a mischievous smile playing across his goat-like snout. He took the datacard back from the droid and nodded towards one of his comrades. She raised her heavy blaster and fired an ion blast into the unsuspecting droid at point blank range, permanently frying its circuitry. The mercenaries stepped over the droid's disabled body and rushed inside the hangar.

"Split up," the leader said. "Trash all of the ships in open dock." All but one of the mercenaries, who wore a helmet, broke off into groups and began targeting the various ships parked within the hangar with their blasters. Explosions began to erupt at random across the bay.

"Where's the security office?" the leader asked his helmeted comrade.

"This way, Harek" the other mercenary said, using the leader's first name. His voice was filtered through the speaker in his helmet. The pair turned down a side corridor and soon arrived at a reinforced security door. The leader once again pulled the datacard from his pocket, placing it up against the scanner on the access panel. The access panel beeped cheerfully and the door promptly opened.

The helmeted mercenary quickly went to work activating the office's computer terminals. A transparisteel window in the office looked out into the hangar, the fires from the burning ships illuminating the dark.

"Security cameras are disabled," the helmeted mercenary said. "Wiping the droid's security logs...and...done." Gloved hands wept up and the mercenary removed his helmet, revealing his face. He was not a Gran, like the others. He was a Twi'lek with blue skin.

"All too easy," Tyrapa said, smiling.

"I would expect so, since you own the place," Harek said, rolling all three of his eyes in annoyance.

"My uncle owns it, technically," Tyrapa said absently as he accessed the terminal's information logs. "My cousin stashed her boy toy's ship in her private hangar." He glanced through the transparisteel window. On the other side of the hangar was another heavy security door. "I don't have the security codes to her hangar."  
"Then how do we get in?" Harek asked. "I didn't bring any codebreakers with us, and our blasters aren't going to get through that even if we spent all night firing at it."

"Not to worry," Tyrapa said impatiently. "If a smuggler shirks their docking fees my uncle has his staff take beam drills to their ship, and seizes their cargo. The drills are located here," he said, pointing to a map of the complex that he brought up to the main screen.

"That should work," Harek agreed, one hand stroking a wispy beard beneath his snout.

A few minutes later Tyrapa and Harek watched a pair of Gran melt through the reinforced door that protected Uraala's hangar. The door glowed bright orange under the high energy assault, bubbles forming in the metal as it buckled. The Gran's brought their beams together, finished the hole. The section fell backwards, making a hole large enough for all of them to get through.

"Have your people melt through the other security doors," Tyrapa ordered. "I don't want to make it look like we only targeted this one." Harek nodded to his people, prompting most of them to break off and head across the main hangar floor.

Tyrapa stepped through the hole, careful to avoid letting any of the melted durasteel drip on him. Inside of Uraala's hangar was a single ship, a tiny and pathetic Incom freighter hardly bigger than the airspeeders that the mercenaries had arrived at the spaceport in.

"Is that it?" Harek asked incredulously.

"That's it," Tyrapa answered. "She keeps most of her ships stowed at the public spaceport. She doesn't fear the port authorities, and doesn't feel the need to hide her ships. This bay is used as temporary storage. It's good for us because it would be impossible to attack the main spaceport like this. Have your people open her up," he ordered, referring to the mini-freighter.

Tyrapa watched as mercenaries took another pair of beam drills to the ship's loading ramp. The drills melted through much quicker than they had against the security door. The ramp fell to the floor with a crash and Tyrapa climbed aboard.

The ship seemed even smaller on the inside that it did from the exterior. He began to search the tiny compartment, looking through every overhead stowage rack, beneath the simple fold-out bed, and even ripping open access panels that led to the ships mechanical systems.

Tyrapa had found nothing out of the ordinary so far, only a set of emergency rations and a standard set of survival gear. He grimaced and then entered the ship's bridge section. He very much hoped that he hadn't assaulted his own families' hangar complex to come up empty handed.

First he searched underneath the control console. He pulled only a small holdout blaster from beneath it. Nothing extraordinary about that. Next he moved to the flight chair. There was nothing hidden beneath its cushions so he felt underneath it. He felt the edges of a panel with his fingertips and promptly ripped it open. He bent down, his head tails resting upon the floor, and peered into the compartment. His eyes widened. On top of a stack of Republic credits was a lightsaber. Tyrapa knew little about the Jedi, but even he could recognize their signature weapon.

"Jackpot," Tyrapa said, smiling. He removed the lightsaber and held it up. The fires burning in the outer hangar reflected through the ship's viewport and reflected off of the shiny hilt of the blade.

"Find anything?" Harek called from outside of the ship. "I know you said nobody would be monitoring the security frequencies, but I don't want to take my chances. I need to get my people out of here as soon as possible."

"I'm done," Tyrapa answered. He quickly tucked the lightsaber inside of his combat suit and got to his feet. As he walked out of the ship he pulled a small datapad from his suit and held it up for the Gran. "I got what I needed," he said, hiding his true find from the merc.

"Alright, let's go," Harek said.

"Yeah," Tyrapa agreed. "Blow up the ship and we can get out of here." A trio of Gran opened fire, pouring heavy bolts of energy into the small ship's engines. It exploded in a glorious fireball. Toxic fumes from all the smoke filled the hangar complex as Tyrapa and the mercenaries quickly fled.

oOoOo

Morning arrived in Pixelito City. Bright light burst through the window in Uraala's high rise apartment. She lay sleeping with her hand absently place around Aramis's chest, covered only by a blanket. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his back. Her breathing seemed so much smoother, so much easier after her injection last night. Despite his misgivings it seemed like the new treatment really had worked.

Uraala's comlink began to ring loudly, emitting a high pitched beep. She shot awake and instinctively grabbed it from her night stand. Aramis turned over and sat upright, surprised at Uraala's suddenly quick reflexes. He was so used to her being sluggish and slow.

"This is Uraala," she said, activating her comlink and causing the incessant ring to stop.

"Hey sweetie, it's your dad," came the answer. Aramis could hear Palor's voice as Uraala kept her comlink on loudspeaker. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great," she answered. "The new treatment seems to be working even better than the doctor expected." Aramis watched her carefully. Despite her newfound happiness he couldn't help but notice she spoke at a much faster pace than normal. Perhaps it was due to her newfound energy levels. "But you don't ever check up on me this early in the morning. What's going on?"  
"Somebody hit one of our shadowports," Palor answered, the cheeriness in his voice, which he seemed to have adopted at the new strength conveyed in Uraala's voice, tempered with anger. "They trashed our private hangar. Destroyed all of the ships."

"Which one?" she asked.

"Auxiliary Complex 11."

Uraala glanced at Aramis worriedly. "Did they get through my security door."

"Yeah," Palor answered. "They got through all of them."

"Who did it?" Uraala asked, her voice a mix of anger and worry.

"We don't know yet," Palor answered. "They wiped the security feeds. Just walked through the main door too…"  
"Then they had inside help," Uraala said hurriedly.

"It seems like that," Palor agreed.

"Okay, I'm going to make some calls and then I will head over there."  
"That's not necessary," Palor said. "Your uncle and I are already on scene. Besides, won't you be at your friend's fight today?" Uraala stared at Aramis.

"It's okay if you miss it, if you need to be somewhere," Aramis said quietly.

"No, I'll be there," Uraala replied.

"Well, okay then. I never could talk you out of anything," Palor said with a slight chuckle despite the serious of the situation."

"I'll call you when I'm on site," she said, killing the comlink.

"Are you sure you feel up to this?" Aramis said as Uraala jumped out of bed and frantically began dressing.

"I feel fine," she said, not a small amount of anger in her voice.

"When is the last time somebody hit one of your families' operations like this?"  
"Not in a long time," Uraala answered as she threw a shirt on. "Someone has betrayed us."

"This facility...is it the one where you stashed my ship?" he asked carefully.

Finally she seemed to pause. "Yeah, it was. I...I'm so sorry. Honestly I couldn't have imagined something like this happening."

"It's okay, I don't blame you," Aramis said. "It's just that…" he dropped his voice to a loud whisper, despite the apparent security of her apartment. "I had a lightsaber hidden on that ship."

"I don't know why you would risk keeping something like that," she said. "But, if whoever it was that attacked us just blew things up, maybe it got destroyed as well."

"Yeah, maybe," Aramis said, finally getting out of bed and beginning to get dressed himself.

"I'll take care of this," Uraala said, watching as Aramis put on his pants. "You focus on your fight."

"The fight...it's not important."

"You can't back out," Uraala said, shaking her head. "I'll find out who did this, and I'll make them pay. And find out if they discovered your secret or not. You focus on what you need to do."

"If you need me…"  
"Then I'll let you know," Uraala interrupted. She quickly exited the room, leaving Aramis behind.

oOoOo

Aramis could hear the roar of the crowd echo through the halls and into the locker room of the arena. He sat on one of the benches, his hands on his knees. He wore his white combat uniform, his eyes were closed tightly in concentration as he attempted to meditate.

Aramis felt a strong wind push against his body. The seven year old sat atop the roof of a balcony on the wall of the Jedi Temple, his Service Corp tunic billowing in the breeze. Far below speeders zoomed past on their way towards the Senate district, creating a sort of dull roar in his ears.

"What are you doing up here child?" came an alarmed voice from behind. Aramis pretended to not have heard the Dormitory Master as he climbed out of an open window and onto the balcony roof.

"You will answer or you will be place into detention," the Dormitory Master said, not with anger but with a cold affirmation of reality.

"I'm trying to meditate," Aramis answered at last, his voice small and fragile.

"Out here?" the Dormitory Master asked.

"I read that danger can bring someone closer to the Force," Aramis said.

"Ah," the Master said in realization. "So you thought that if you risked your life out on a balcony you might find a way to sense the Force again." The middle-aged human sat next to the child. "You know, it's not quite as simple as that."

"I wanted to try," Aramis said sadly.

"I understand," the human responded. He placed a hand on Aramis's shoulder. "But you must learn to adapt and grow strong in your own way. Trying to hold on to the hopes of the past...it's a futile endeavor."

Aramis sighed. "Alright, I'll come back inside." The Dormitory Master helped him to his feet and together they re-entered the Temple.

Aramis opened his eyes. Once again he was inside of the locker room, in the arena on Malastare. He sighed once again, just as he had a little over twelve years ago. It seemed he had learned very little. He was still trying to cling to the past. He thought of the battle at the Jedi Temple, how Commander Yen had sacrificed himself so that rest of them could escape. He thought of the stash of artifacts he and Kylta had hidden on Dantooine. He wanted to preserve the past in order to prepare for the future. But he couldn't cling to it.

He stood and stretched, loudly cracking the joints in his neck and hands. He punched his hands together, stretched his legs, and exited the locker room. The roar of the crowd grew until he reached the entrance to the stage. The previous fight had just wrapped up. The Noghri had defeated a human with the use of kamas, small sickle-like knives. A series of floating sanitation droids were mopping up the blood.

Aramis noticed Lehal Jak standing opposite of him on the other side of the stage, in the entrance that led to the other locker room. The dark skinned human was wearing a white combat uniform similar to his own. Jak noticed Aramis's gaze and nodded his head, smiling slightly.

"Are you ready?" a Gran official waiting nearby asked Aramis. He nodded. "You may take the stage."

Aramis walked slowly into the open. The crowd grew quieter as they awaited the officials to introduce them. Jak approached from the other side, his demeanor slowly becoming more serious as the two combatants approached each other.

The announcer stood between them. "Are you ready for the second bout of the day?" he asked the crowd. The roar returned as they shouted in reply.

"Introducing first, last year's winner of the tournament, Lehal Jak!" the announcer called. Jak raised his hand to the crowd and smiled, earning a rush of cheers.

"And second, from parts unknown, the man known as Arayen!" the announcer called. Aramis simply nodded towards the crowd, earning a polite but less enthusiastic round of applause. Despite his impressive performances on the stage he had done little to earn the crowd's adoration outside of the fights.

"You both know the rules," the announcer said, his three eyes flicking between the two of them. They nodded. "Lehal Jak has the superior record in the round robin stage and may pick heads or tails."

"Tails," Jak said, glancing at Count Dooku's bust on the coin that the announcer held. The announcer flipped the coin into the air and caught it on the back of his hand.

"Tails!" the announcer shouted, revealing the other side of the coin. It depicted a trio of Separatist Vulture space fighter droids flying in formation. "Lehal Jak may choose armed or unarmed combat."

"Unarmed," came Jak's answer. The announcer backed off of the stage, leaving the two combatants behind. "Good luck, kid," Jak said, bowing slightly towards Aramis.

"Good luck," Aramis answered, bowing slightly in return. The two retreated to their starting positions and the buzzer came to life, signalling the beginning of the bout.

Aramis lowered into a slight crouch with his knees bent. He kept one hand high, and the other low. Across from him Jak adopted a forward leaning stance, with both hands in a relaxed mid guard. Seconds passed by without either one of them moving. The crowd grew quiet in anticipation.

Jak made the first move. He stepped forward and struck out with quick kick intended to test Aramis's reflexes. Aramis reacted instinctively, getting his hand up just in time to deflect the strike.

Aramis counter attacked with a back-handed punch, which Jak easily avoided. He followed up with a knee kick aimed at Jak's ribs, which the human deflected with the side of his thigh. For his trouble Aramis received a quick jab to the ribs that he could not deflect.

Aramis responded with a quick flurry of jabs. Jak avoided each one, either shifting out of the way or batting them away with the palm of his hand. Aramis stepped back just in time to avoid a quick retaliatory kick.

Jak smiled and settled into a reset position. Aramis rubbed his ribs and then did the same. The crowd applauded the quick flurry of action.

This time Aramis struck first. He stepped forward and struck out with a high kick. Jak began to raise his guard but Aramis dropped into a leg sweep, spinning around and strikingn from below. Jak lightly hopped over Aramis's kick and aimed a kick of his own at Aramis's face while his blue skinned opponent was still on the ground. Aramis's eye widened in surprise but he managed to roll backwards. Jak's foot passed by millimeters from his nose.

Aramis didn't have time to recover to his feet. Jak rushed forward, grabbing one of Aramis's forearms, preventing him from using it in defense, and struck down in a jab. The strike caught him in the chest. Aramis ignored the pain, instead reaching out and grabbing Jak's had before he could retract it. He spun his legs while his back was on the ground, catching Jak behind the knees and tripping him up.

There was a quick flurry as each combatant attempted to get the other into a submission move. Jak's superior reflexes were negated in such close proximity. Aramis resisted as Jak tried to twist his arms backwards, reacting with a kick to Jak's ribs, the first strike he had managed to land with any force thus far in the match.

Jak answered with a series of punches to Aramis's face, striking him in the side of the cheek. Aramis grabbed Jak's forearm as it came down for another punch and wrapped his thighs around the human's bicep, nearly putting Jak into an armbar.

Jak pulled Aramis from the ground, dead lifting him with enormous strength. With a grunt he tossed him like a bag of rice. As soon as Aramis hit the mat he rolled backwards and got onto his feet.

Jak smiled and flexed his arm, proving he had escaped Aramis's submission attempt unharmed. Aramis flicked at his nose and went into a rest stance, one hand high and the other low. He could already feel the side of his face beginning to swell up. The crowd cheered both combatants on loudly.

There was a pause as each combatant sized up the other. Aramis knew he had to outsmart his opponent if he wanted to win. He wouldn't be matching Jak's speed or strength anytime soon.

Jak jumped forward faster than Aramis could respond to, hitting a quick jab that caught him in the nose and then following up with a left hook to the ribs. Aramis backed away. Again Jak came at him, feinting with a right hook to the face but then hitting a knee to the ribs. Aramis caught the knee with his thigh but was but the hook got through, striking him in the already bruised cheek.

He counter punched, which Jak dodged, and received two punches to the midsection. It was beginning to hurt just to breath. Jak slapped out with a series of hooks and jabs. Each time Aramis would deflect one blow only to be hit somewhere else. Jak kept his attacks random, preventing his opponent from predicting where the next one would come from. In response Aramis cleared his mind, keeping all conscious thought.

Suddenly, as Jak came in with another flurry, Aramis caught one of Jak's arms and pulled his legs up, dropping to the floor and dragging the human with him. Before Aramis could wrap his legs around Jak's neck and lock in the armbar submission Jak punched him in the face with his free hand, momentarily stunning Aramis. Jak managed to free himself and stumble backwards before Aramis could regain his senses.

Jak allowed Aramis to get back to his feet. There was perspiration on the human's bald head, but no other signs of damage. Aramis, on the other hand, was a mess.

"Do you yield?" Jak asked.

Aramis straightened upright and stretched his neck. "I'll keep fighting until I can't," Aramis answered.

Jak frowned, hesitated a mere second, and then rushed forward once more. Instead of clearing his mind Aramis filled his head with counterattacks and submissions. Everytime Jak struck out with a punch Aramis considered three ways to respond simultaneously and then abandoned each of them in order to fall back. Jak suddenly looked confused.

They repeated this sequence twice more, with Jak going through a flurry of attacks and Aramis seemingly absorbing all of it, doing nothing more than protecting his face and other vital areas. He adapted Form III, Soresu, the defensive lightsaber combat style, to hand to hand combat. Just as Jak had done when Aramis had first seen him fight back in that pub.

When Jak paused to consider a new strategy Aramis switched to Form IV, Ataru. He went on the offensive, striking out with quick and jabs and even quicker kicks. All of them were feints with hardly any force behind them. When Jak moved to dodge or block Aramis abandoned his assault and attacked from a new angle, often flipping, rolling, or spinning in order to do so. He kept his mind a flurry of options, considering every possible strike at once. Bewildered, Jak could only a manage a few soft kicks here and there.

Just when Aramis was about to tire out, just when his sudden explosion of energy threatened to wane, he switched strategies once again. He switched to Echani strong style, aiming a powerful kick to Jak's thigh. Jak blocked it but winced in pain as the strike nearly turned his muscles to jelly. Jak foresaw Aramis' forearm strike to his temple, ducking underneath it, but could do nothing to get out of the way the knee that met him on the way down. Jak recoiled backwards, vulnerable for the first time in the fight.

Aramis went for a leg sweep, which Jak stepped around, and caught the human's counter strike with his arms, literally hugging Jak's leg. He used all of his remaining strength to push the human to the ground, toppling Jak onto his back. Jak reacted with a knee to Aramis's ribs, but the counter failed to deter him. He punched downwards repeatedly, catching Jak across the face with powerful strikes.

Jak took a couple of them and caught a third with his arms, attempting to put Aramis into the same armbar that the blue alien had tried earlier. Aramis escaped with a knee to the human's ribs, causing Jak to cry out in pain and abandon the submission.

Aramis stepped back, ready to go back on the offensive, but Jak beat him to it. The human reacted with unnatural speed, jumping to his feet and then kicking Aramis in the side of the head. Aramis teetered in place for a moment, and then fell backwards, unconscious. The fight was over. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.


	14. Dark Skai: Part I

**Chapter Fourteen**

Darth Vader stood at the edge of the water, staring out at the endless expanse of sea that stretched out before him. The cerulean waters of Manaan seemed eerily calm. The planet had no moon that could cause tides, leaving only the climate to drive the waves. Today's weather was nearly perfect. Bright sunshine filled the air, with only a few wispy clouds to mar the pale blue sky.

Vader had become used to water worlds during the Clone Wars, during frequent visits to the floating cities of Kamino. But, looking out at this endless, uninteresting, irritatingly serene ocean, he felt he preferred the constant storms of Kamino. Especially now.

He stood at the edge of what had once been a loading pier on Ahto City, the only platform floating on the surface of the entire planet. Thousands of years ago this had been a bustling port. Now it was an abandoned ruin, remaining afloat due to both its enormous size and the quality of its engineering. Once this port had been the sole source of the best medicine in the galaxy, Kolto. But something had happened to the source of the Kolto, resulting in a decline in quality and the substance's eventual replacement with Bacta from Thyferra.

Vader raised his artificial hand, tightening it into a fist. The water in front of him rose unnaturally until a globe of water separated itself from ocean. As a V-wing howled overhead he hurled the sphere of water forward like a cannonball. The sphere shot through the ocean for tens of meters, causing an enormous wake that pierced through the calm waters. For a moment Vader had interrupted Maanan's tranquility. But as soon as the sphere of water dissipated the wake collapsed and the apparent serenity of the sea returned.

Vader sensed a pair of Clones approaching from behind. He turned to find two Stormtroopers bowing their heads in respect. The Clones had just received their new kit, abandoning the familiar armor they had worn during their service to the Republic. Vader felt the new gear looked cheap and ineffective, but he supposed it was a necessary trade off when there was an entire Galaxy to rebuild and reorder.

"Have you finished your sweep of the city?" Vader asked, his voice deep and booming.

"Nearly," one trooper answered, wearing the orange shoulder pauldron indicating an officer's rank upon his shoulder. "So far the city has proved to be completely empty. No signs of sentient life."

"What about the city itself? Have you located any kind of central control center? Anything that can be used to return the city to functioning status?"

"That's a question for the engineers, sir. But we haven't found anything that still works. All of the doors are jammed with muck and rust...we've had to cut our way through every one of them."

"Very well. Establish a command center at the center of the city," Vader commanded. "Order Captain Timorr to start bringing submersible equipment down from the _Exactor._ I want to begin searching below the surface before the end of the day."

"Yes sir. And there was one more thing…"

"Yes?" Vader asked impatiently.

"A message from the _Exactor..._ the Emperor has called. He demands to know why you've left Kashyyyk before consulting with Imperial Center."

Vader raised his fist once more, lifting the Clone into the air with the power of the Force. "I am the Supreme Commander of Imperial Forces. I do not consult with Imperial Center before going where I wish."

"Yes...sir…" the Clone gasped. "I...understand...but what shall...Captain Timorr...tell the Emperor."

Vader dropped the stormtrooper, allowing the Clone to catch his breath. "Tell Captain Timorr...tell him I am exploring a world vital to the interests of the Empire. Tell him I will give the Emperor an update as soon as our command post is established."

"Yes sir," the Clone answered, lightly clutching at his throat as he bowed and hurried away. The other trooper likewise bowed and followed his superior, his eagerness to be far from Vader's invisible grasp apparent.

When they were gone Vader turned back towards the ocean, his black cape fluttering gently in the breeze.

oOoOo

Uraala shot upwards with a start. She glanced around her bedroom, which was still seeped in the darkness of the predawn hours. Her body was covered in a cold sweat and her muscles ached. She looked over to her side, where Aramis still slept. He still had faint bruises visible on his face from his bout with Lehal Jak.

She threw off her sheet and got out of bed. Her legs nearly collapsed underneath her, forcing her to reach out and grab a nearby cabinet to steady herself. In addition to the fatigue from whatever nightmare had woken her, it seemed that the healing effects of her injection had worn off.

She slowly shuffled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen of her apartment. She instantly spotted the case of syringes lying upon the countertop. She could almost hear it calling to her. Struck with a sudden frantic energy, she opened the leather case and removed one of the syringes. She injected herself in the crook of her forearm, the silvery liquid within shooting into her body.

Relief instantly washed over her body. The fatigue in her muscles faded. Renewed energy seemed to flood her entire being. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. It was startling how quickly the medication worked.

She glanced over at the computer terminal embedded in the wall, next to the doorway that led into the pantry. A little green light blinked on and off, indicating that she had an incoming message.

"Play message," Uraala said impatiently.

"Hey Uraala," came Exa Karr's voice. "The info you got from the port authority was good. We've confirmed the origin of the speeders that hit your hangar. They belong to the Ard clan, a group of Gran that operate off of a dwarf planet on the edge of the system. Get back to me when you decide what the plan is. I've got a bunch of Mandalorians on my payroll that would love to get into a scrap. Message me back as soon as you can."

Uraala leaned against the countertop, rage building inside of her. If Exa was offering up his commandos...the beginnings of a plan began to coalesce in her mind. She just needed to shower, get dressed, and then meet with some of her father's lieutenants. She raised her arm, sniffed, and then shrugged. She could skip the shower.

She grabbed her case of syringes, not bothering to zip it up properly. One needle fell out and onto the countertop. She re-entered her bedroom, getting dressed quietly. She glanced at Aramis, for a moment considering waking him up. No, she didn't need him for this. His Jedi upbringing would likely get in the way. Better to explain later. Minutes later she was out the door and heading towards her speeder.

oOoOo

Lehal Jak sat inside of Uraala's living room, his legs crossed in front of him, hand in his lap. The furniture had been pushed against the walls, clearing enough space for Aramis to lay down a soft wicker mat.

The human was silent except for the sound of his breathing. Each breath came and went slowly. Aramis sat in front of him, watching him meditate. Aromatic candles surrounded them, an aide to help the amatuer reach out to the Force.

Aramis wore the same clothes he had worn during the tournament. White robes, slightly torn from the violence of the bouts. The blood had been washed out. Except for the faintest hints of bruises upon his face it was nearly impossible to tell that the blue alien had taken such a beating. Such were the healing effects of bacta.

This was their second session in the week following their bout against each other. Their involvement in the tournament was over. Jak had, subtly of course, thrown his following match, freeing him to begin training with Aramis. For his part Aramis had received thirty five thousands credits for making it into the second round of the finals. It felt like a fortune to him. He had never had much more than pocket change during his life with the Jedi.

He watched as perspiration trickled down Jak's forehead, causing the bald man's dark skin to glisten in the morning light. For some reason Jak was having difficulty, although he claimed to have tried several meditation methods by himself before now. Aramis had taught him the method he had learned from the Jedi. It was simple stuff, something he had mastered easily when he had still been able to sense the Force.

Jak suddenly exhaled and opened his eyes. "I give up," he said.

"You just started," Aramis responded. Jak glanced over Aramis' shoulder towards the expansive window in Uraala's apartment, where he could see the shadows cast by the nearby skyscrapers.

"It looks like its been hours…"

"Two at most," Aramis suddenly admitted. "I don't know why you're having trouble. You are clearly strong enough," he said, referring to the human's latent Force sensitivity.

"I don't know," Jak said, shaking his head. "I can sense you sitting in front of me. And then there is this...interference. Like this loud noise that drowns out everything else."

Aramis frowned. "Then you are touching the Force. This just means that there is something nearby dominating your senses." He stood and walked across the room, leaving the mat and entering the kitchen, intending to pour some water for the both of them. While he grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet he tried to work out what could possibly be the matter. If there was something nearby that was throwing Jak off, it had to be strong in the Force.

What if there was a Force user hiding on the floor below them? Aramis shook his head and then paused. One of Uraala's syringes was sitting on the counter. The new injections seemed to have been working just as Hilgal had promised. However, Aramis had noticed a shift in Uraala's personality. She had become darker, moodier.

This syringe hadn't been used yet. It was still full of that strange silvery liquid, which was mixed together with powdered kyber crystal. He reached over and picked it up, instantly feeling the uneasy sensation he recognized from his visits to the clinic. If even he could sense something was off about this stuff….

He turned back into the living room and tossed the syringe over to Jak, taking him by surprise. Even so, the human was able to intercept the syringe before it struck him in the face, thanks to his unnatural fast reflexes.

"What the hell is this?" Jak asked, his face suddenly mirroring how Aramis felt, like something that smelled horrible had just been shoved under his nose.

"It's what Uraala received from the clinic, to treat her illness," Aramis answered.

"I know that you two seem close...but Uraala's demeanor concerns me," Jak said carefully.

"I know what you mean," Aramis said, nodding. "I've never grown so close to someone, so quickly, in my entire life. I really can't explain it." Aramis exhaled as he thought of her lying next to him, not realizing he had begun to hold his breath. "I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what we have, especially since we both thought her time was...limited. That stuff seems to be helping her. But…"

"But it's changing her," Jak said knowingly. He twirled the syringe in his fingers, gazing at it like might suddenly begin emitting poisonous gas. "I really can't explain it properly, but this stuff feels... _off._ Unnatural."

"Dark," Aramis added. "As in the dark side."

Jak set the syringe on the mat in front of him. "What is it?"

"I don't know for sure how its made. But I know they use a unique bacta formula, mixed with spice. I think it has some kind of nanite to help spread it throughout the body. And powdered kyber crystal."

"Kyber crystal?" Jak asked, his voice rising in alarm. "The gem that Jedi use to power their lightsabers? The only substance that radiants the Force like a living being?"

"Yeah, one and the same," Aramis said.

"How are they even getting a supply? Every known source of kyber in the galaxy is off limits."

"It was off limits when there were Jedi around," Aramis added sadly. He entered the living room and sat in front of Jak, the syringe still lying on the floor between them. "But now…"

"What are you going to do? If this hospital…"  
"Malastare Medical Corporation," Aramis interjected.

"If they are getting kyber from somewhere horrible…"  
"What am I supposed to do?" Aramis asked. "Take away something that could be saving her life because I'm superstitious? Because I think her medicine might be evil? I don't even have the right to make that decision for her."

"No, of course not," Jak agreed. "But if we find out something more…"

"How would we do that? They know my face there. I was an employee...well, for almost a week anyway."

"I have connections at Obroa-Skai. I was raised by a professor there," Jak revealed.

"The library planet? What's that got to do with anything?"  
"The 'library' stereotype is an oversimplification," Jak said. "Obroa-Skai is so much more. The Core Worlds have universities. But Obroa-Skai _is_ a university. The entire planet is devoted to the pursuit of knowledge."

"I still don't get what this has to do with Uraala or Malastare Medical Corp."

"You said this stuff is made with medical nanites. Advanced bacta. Powdered kyber crystal...No offense to Malastare, but we are talking about bleeding edge research. The kind of research that would need a lot of experts coming together. The only place something like that happens at is Obroa-Skai."

"It sounds like you're pitching a field trip…"

"When we first met you said you wanted to know where I learned about the Jedi combat techniques. Outside of the Archives of the Jedi Temple, where do you think the most extensive collection of Jedi knowledge is?"

"Obroa-Skai," Aramis said, a whole lot of other worries suddenly filling his head. On Dantooine, when he had sealed away the artifacts they had saved from the Jedi Temple, he had promised Kylta he would do everything he could to prevent the legacy of the Jedi from being wiped from the galaxy. It could be that a big part of that legacy was sitting on Obroa-Skai. Vulnerable.

"Alright," Aramis said at last. "If we go, what would our first step be?"

oOoOo

Darth Vader watched as the hastily thrown together holoprojector hissed to life. He stood inside what once must have been a public square inside the enormous floating city. The muck covering the place had been cleared away, making room for the Stormtrooper detachment from the _Exactor_ to set up their command post. A large power generator sat within the remains of an ancient bazaar, quietly producing power for the makeshift barracks still under construction behind Vader.

A pair of technicians backed away from the holoprojector. "We've completed the connection," one of them announced. "The _Exactor_ is acting as a relay from Coruscant."

"Very good," Vader said. "Establish a signal to the Emperor's office." A moment later the enormous hooded visage of Emperor Palpatine appeared in front of him. Somehow Palpatine's side of the connection had overridden the projectors standards, producing an image of the Emperor's face that towered over his apprentice rather than appearing life sived.

"What are you doing on Manaan?" Palpatine asked, his voice raspy and deep.

"The occupation of Kashyyyk was well in hand," Vader answered. "My presence was no longer required."

"That isn't for you to decide," the Emperor said. "There is much work to be done. I can't have you gallivanting around the galaxy without notice."

"I am not an animal on a leash," Vader said, anger seeping into his voice. "I will do what must be done to secure this new Empire, but I will not ask permission to do so."

Palpatine eyes narrowed dangerously beneath his hood. "Be careful, my young apprentice, or you will discover just how short your leash is." A moment of silence passed between them. "Return to Coruscant. At once. I have new work for you."

"What work?" Vader asked.

"You will see when you get here. Take a shuttle to the former Jedi Temple. I will await you."

"Very well," Vader said, bowing his helmet in respect for his master. As soon as Palpatine's face disappeared from the holoprojector he clenched his fist, instantly killing the two technicians who had set up and monitored the communications relay. He turned to a nearby Stormtrooper, who was still staring down at the fallen techs.

"Order a shuttle from the _Exactor._ Captain Timorr is to continue this operation in my absence, until I return. He knows what to do."

"Very well, Lord Vader," the Stormtrooper said.


	15. Dark Skai: Part II

**Chapter Fifteen**

Darth Vader's Theta-class shuttle descended through the crowded atmosphere of Coruscant. The tri-winged vessel, the top wing shaped like a blade that extended over the nose of the transport, made directly for the former Jedi Temple.

Smoke no longer emanated from the ziggurat as it had immediately after the destruction of the Jedi Order. Vader leaned forward in his seat, situated behind the copilot and the navigator. He had not returned to the site of his former home since being placed in his black suit. Outwardly there was no indication of his surprise when he noticed the numerous construction craft flitting about the enormous structure.

Hundreds of floating construction hovered beside the ziggurat's enormous walls, busily constructing scaffolding with a single minded purpose, not unlike a hive of insects. The shuttle descended towards the entrance of the Temple. The stone pillars that had once marked the entrance, decorated on each side by ancient Jedi Masters, had been torn down. By the sight of the stone debris that littered the causeway it looked like a turbolaser had been taken to them.

The shuttle finally came to a landing just before the flight of stairs that led up to the entrance. Without a word to the flight crew Vader exited the cabin and down the boarding ramp. He quickly ascended the stairs, his cape billowing behind him. He couldn't help but think back to his first moments as a Sith, when he had led a legion of clones into battle against the Jedi. Inside he could sense the presence of his master, waiting.

Vader entered the grand hall, finding himself in the middle of a construction site. Beyond the repairs to the hall required after the battles of not much more than a month prior, workers and droids were busy ripping up the grey and white tiling on the floor, replacing it with black obsidian. A security checkpoint, manned by a squad of stormtroopers, ignored Vader as he passed.

Vader followed his senses until he reached the second hall. Here the damage had been more severe, many of the columns that ran from the floor to the ceiling still lying in broken heaps. He spotted his master standing atop a robotic scaffolding platform that lay near the wall, the platform providing a view from which to observe most of the work. Despite ruling the entire known universe, the Emperor still kept to his simple black robes. An architect, a tall thin human with a cybernetic visor over his eyes, stood next to him, presenting a holographic blueprint.

Vader approached from behind, going up a short set of stairs that brought him onto the same level as the scaffold. He stood patiently while Palpatine finished, betraying no sense of nervousness or unease.

"Lord Vader," Palpatine said, not bothering to turn towards his apprentice.

"My Master," Vader said, bowing.

"What do you think of my new palace?" Palpatine asked, finally turning towards Vader, who stood several meters below him behind the scaffold.

"Palace?"  
 **"** Yes. The Imperial Palace. Why construct a new building when there is a perfectly good one sitting...unoccupied," Palpatine said, smirking. At last the wizened human descended the ramp and joined Vader on the floor. "Follow me."  
The Emperor began to walk at a casual pace, observing the frenzied work going on throughout the former Jedi Temple as if it were his favorite holodrama, performed live. They entered a central corridor, which Vader knew led to most of the central turbolifts. As they moved he noticed that many of the decorations, the bronzium statues and busts of the ancient Jedi, were all missing. He wondered if Palpatine had melted them down, or if he had stashed them into some kind of secret trophy room.

"How well have you been studying the Sith holocrons I gave you?" Palpatine asked.

"I've devoted every free moment to them," Vader answered.

"Good. Recite Darth Bane's 'Rule of Two'," he asked.

"Two there should be. No more, no less. One to embody the power, and the other to covet it."

"What are the benefits of such a system?" Palpatine asked. He came to a stop in front of a very large turbolift. Vader knew from experience that this one led all the way up to the Jedi High Council chamber, and all the way down to the ancient foundations of the Temple itself.

"The Sith remain strong," Vader answered. "Their power focused. It prevents many lesser rivals from joining together and overthrowing a more powerful master. It prevents the infighting that doomed the ancient Sith."

"Indeed," Palpatine agreed, nodding. He narrowed his yellow eyes as he stared up at his apprentice. "But the drawbacks?"  
Vader hesitated before answering. "Two Sith cannot be everywhere at once."

"Correct," Palpatine said, nodding slightly. "A true Sith will always bend rules to their advantage. The Jedi were inflexible, they failed to change with times. But the Sith must not be. Ruling an entire galaxy, effectively, requires delegation."

"You are referring to the likes of Tarkin?" Vader asked.

"Yes," the Emperor answered. "But it also requires that the delegates are kept in check. Competing against each other. Tarkin in fear of the other Moffs. Imperial Intelligence in fear of the ISB. The Navy held in check by the bureaucrats. All of them in fear of COMPNOR. But to hold it all together, to prevent rivalry from turning into civil war...That requires the kind of strength only a Sith Lord can provide.""

"I understand," Vader agreed.

"Do you?" the Emperor snapped. "That is why I can't have you disappearing without notice onto some forgotten world. The Navy, and all of the others, must be made keenly aware of your presence. They must know that if they abuse the enormous power I've given them, if they put themselves above the interests of the New Order, that you will be there, ready to choke the life out of them if need be."

"What about the remaining Jedi hiding throughout the galaxy?"

"There are none left that can challenge us," Palpatine said dismissively. "The rest are a mere nuisance."

"A nuisance that should be dealt with," Vader said, anger seeping into his voice. He couldn't help but think of his old master, Obi Wan. He knew better than anyone from his experiences in the Clone Wars what damage a single Jedi could do. "The clones took the Jedi by surprise. But the stormtroopers will prove ineffective against even the weakest Jedi."

"That is why there is a project of mine, long planned," Palpatine said. He reached out with his hand. "Your lightsaber."

Vader reached beneath his belt and removed the weapon, which he had built mere weeks prior to replace the one he had lost to Kenobi. He did not hesitate in handing it over. He knew that the Emperor did not need to disarm him if he intended on discarding his apprentice.

"Take the turbolift to the Archives." The turbolift door opened, Palpatine telekinetically activating the controls from the corridor.

Vader obeyed, getting onto the lift, which immediately began to descend. He reached out with his senses, attempting to discover whatever it was the Emperor had waiting for him below. But he found his senses cloudy. Obscured. The Emperor was interfering with them somehow. He didn't find it surprising, seeing how Palpatine had managed to hide right underneath the noses of the Jedi for more than a decade.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. The Archives had never been a brightly lit place, even under the Jedi. Bright light could damage some of the sensitive artifacts held within. But now it was pitch black, only a handful of faint lights blinking on and off in the distance, likely belonging to a control panel or computer terminal.

Vader stepped off of the lift and into the darkness.

oOoOo

Dust rose into the thin atmosphere as Uraala crawled over the last hill seperating her from her destination, the underground hideout of the Ard Clan. The stars overhead barely twinkled. The weak gravity of the dwarf planet, which lay at the edge of the Malastare system, was barely able to maintain an atmosphere, was hardly able to create such an effect. Still, the atmospheric pressure was just high enough that she didn't need a full vacuum suit. Instead she wore an armored flight suit made of durasteel and echani fiber. It was painted a mottled purple and gray, colors which helped her blend with the surrounding environment.

Blaster pistol in hand, she finally reached the summit of the hill. The Ard Clan's hideout consisted of multiple dome-like structures, which burst out of the lifeless landscape as if they were soap bubbles about to pop. Tunnels beneath the ground connected each dome, and also led to a nearby canyon where the hangar bay was hidden. Uraala could see distant flashes of green and red light bouncing off the walls of the canyon in the distance. Her father's forces, many of whom had helped her in the assault against the Zygerrians during the tournament, were attempting a frontal assault.

A thin cloud of dust rolled over her suit from behind. Uraala awkwardly glanced over, her suit wasn't very flexible, to find Exa Karr arriving at the top of the hill. Exa wore a full set of _beskar'gam_ armor, the gear worn by every Mandalorian warrior since ancient times. His armor was dark grey, with occasional flashes of green and blue paint. The area surrounding the t-shaped visor on his helmet had been painted in triangles of white and dark blue, simulating the look of shark's teeth.

"Communications check," Exa ordered, his voice echoing through the communicator mounted inside of Uraala's helmet. Three additional mandalorians, wearing armor similar to Exa's, joined them at the top of the hill, kicking up three additional small clouds of dust.

"I hear you," Uraala answered, her voice tense. Their communications equipment was encrypted and set to low power. The transmissions wouldn't go more than a few dozen meters before becoming indistinguishable from the background radiation common throughout space, ensuring that their approach would not be noticed.

"I read you loud and clear," one of the Mandalorians answered, a woman named Isle.

"Natan here, I read you," a masculine voice answered.

"I hear you," another answered, his voice deeper than the others. Uraala believed his name was Ture.

"Alright, we're going to fly ahead and hack into their security system," Exa said. "You can go on foot, meet us at the access shaft."

"Okay," Uraala answered with a nod, although the gesture went mostly unnoticed due to the stiffness of her suit. Exa rose to his feet, and, joined by the other mandalorians, ignited his jet pack. The four shot into the sky, easily overcoming the dwarf planet's gravity. Uraala watched as the light from each of their jet packs quickly shrank into the distance as they flew towards the roof of the nearest dome. Annoyed she did not have a jet pack of her own, Uraala got to her feet and began to move down the hill.

Her trek across the flat plains of the valley floor went much quicker than she anticipated. Due to the low gravity she could take tens of meters in each stride, as if she were gliding rather than jogging across the surface. She imagined that this must be what a Jedi felt like when they used the Force to perform supernatural feats of speed and strength. For a moment she smiled, despite her foul mood.

She spotted the access shaft on the nearest dome, a rectangular air vent nestled amongst an outcropping of boulders that vented excess heat. By the time she reached it four bursts of light erupted about her periphery as the Mandalorians touched down.

"Isle broke into their system," Exa announced, glancing towards one of the other Mandalorians, a woman who had purple teeth markings on the top of her helmet.

"We downloaded the compound's schematics," Isle added. Her voice was surprisingly cheery, despite the seriousness of the mission. Isle raised her forearm and a holographic image of the base appeared. There were four domes and two parallel tunnels connecting each of them. The power reactor was buried tens of meters below the surface at the center point between each dome. The tunnel to the hangar facility, where most of the fighting was still focused, led to that central hub.

"Let's get inside," Uraala said, the others nodding in agreement. Natan and Ture activated cutting lasers on their gauntlets and went to work, slicing open the vent and removing the grating. Exa went in first, climbing inside the vent and then sliding downwards. Uraala paused a moment and then followed.

She slid for a few meters and then fell into an empty corridor. She immediately stepped to the side, allowing whoever came next to follow without falling on top of her. Exa had activated the glow lamp on his helmet, illuminating the darkened hall. It looked long abandoned, with pieces of the ceiling having fallen in. Bits of wiring and conduit hung down like the vines of creeping plants.

"This place looks abandoned," Exa said.

"This is an ancient listening post, from before Malastare joined the Republic," Uraala revealed. "It's likely that the Ard clan is only living in one of the four domes."

"Power is only active in two of them," Isle added, having just landed in the corridor. Once again she raised her forearm, activating her hologram projector. This time bright orange lines joined the blue light, indicating the presence of electricity. Most of the power flowed into the two western domes from the central hub, and into the hangar area. Only one line flowed to their dome, which was on the southwest corner of the complex. The line appeared to terminate at the airlock that connected the dome to its tunnel.

One Natan and Ture joined them in the corridor the group proceeded down the curved corridor, which ran along the outside edge of the dome. Thick doors lay between each bulkhead, leading towards the interior. All of the doors were sealed shut, either through rust or through welds along the door frame. As they moved each of the Mandalorians, including Exa, removed blaster carbines from the holsters at their hips. Each of them ran through weapons checks, ensuring they were ready if any sort of nasty surprise awaited. The weapons, in between a pistol and a rifle, were perfect for the highly mobile form of combat that Mandalorians were famous for. For her part Uraala kept her blaster pistol at the ready, using a two handed grip on the grey and black weapon.

As they continued around the circumference of the dome they eventually spotted a light still functioning in the ceiling up ahead, signalling the presence of the airlock that had been indicated on their map. Although it appeared bright in the relative darkness of the corridor, the light was weak and flickering. It seemed the Ard clan wasn't interested in routine maintenance.

Uraala approached the airlock, which consisted of a door even heavier than those they had passed so far. "Can you cut through this?" she asked the group.

"Unnecessary," Isle said. She pressed a few buttons on her gauntlet and the sound of heavy gears grinding into action interrupted the silence that reigned throughout abandoned section of the facility.

"Was their security system that bad?" Uraala asked.

"Yes," Isle answered amusedly. "I mean, I would hardly label it as security at all." Uraala was slightly surprised to hear that. She knew that Exa's people were good, of course, but the Ard clan were not known to be pushovers.

The airlock door rumbled open, allowing them to file in. Each Mandalorian held their carbine at the ready as the inner door followed suit. Unlike the dome they had entered the complex through, the lights in this corridor were still working. The tunnel was wide enough for the group to stand side by side in pairs. Exa and Isle took the lead, Uraala was in the middle. Natan and Ture took the rear. The tunnel went on for nearly a hundred meters before they reached the airlock that marked the entrance into the next dome.

Exa and Isle stepped up to the airlock. Just as Isle raised her forearm to open the next door a series of small tubes extended from the ceiling.

"Watch out," Uraala shouted, jumping backwards into the Natan and Ture. A torrent of flame burst forth from each tube, enveloping Exa and Isle. Uraala expected to hear screams of agony in her helmet comm, but instead she heard only silence. The flames continued for what seemed like an eternity, but did eventually cease. The tubes popped back into their holes, leaving two smoldering Mandalorians standing before Uraala.

"Are you two...okay?"

Isle turned to face towards her, reaching up and wiping away some of the soot from her helmet's t-shaped visor.. "A bit toasty, but I'm okay," she answered. Isle glanced at Uraala's much flimsier suit. "Good thing we went first."

"Open the door," Exa growled. He raised his carbine into a ready position. By the time it rumbled open a shocked Gran on the other side had nearly made it around the curve of the dome's outer corridor. Exa fired two shots, burying both of them into his back. A small datapad went flying out of the Gran's grasp, colliding into the wall and bursting into its component parts.

Uraala moved around Exa and stood over the Gran's corpse. "Any of you have a flamethrower in your gear?"

"He's already dead…" Exa began, but one of the other Mandalorians moved around him and unleashed a concentrated jet of flame onto the corpse.

"Too bad you hadn't stunned him," Uraala said, a peculiar bloodlust in her voice. Isle poked her boot at the remains of the Gran's datapad, apparently wishing it had landed intact.

"Waste of weapons fuel," Exa said with a sigh. "Let's keep moving."

The group continued past the burning corpse of the Gran and moved down the curved corridor. The interior was in much better shape than the dome they had entered through, but there were still signs of disrepair. Lights that didn't function without flickering. Floor plating that seem ready to give way underfoot. But the group moved on, eventually coming to an open door.

"This way," Isle said, the holographic map open on her gauntlet. They entered a room that appeared to be a tech station. The room was littered with miscellaneous equipment that looked to be scavenged from across the complex. Exa brought his cutting laser to bear against the lock of the next door and pushed it open. Light spilled into the room, causing Uraala to shield her eyes with her hand.

They entered into a bowl shaped valley. The interior of the dome was like an artificial environment, with small hills choked with overgrown vegetation gradually descending towards a small lake. Small shacks made of durasteel were scattered throughout the valley, concentrated in a little village on the other side of the dome. Huge glow lamps suspended from the ceiling provided an approximation of sunlight, although the lights didn't put out much heat.

"The nearest control center is there," Isle said, pointing towards a building that rose up towards the ceiling of the dome. The building was like a durasteel column, with antenna and piping rising up and extending through the roof. Ramshackle levels had been built around each floor of the tower, with more huts and living spaces supported by thin columns. Each level provided a commanding view of the rest of the valley. If the dome and the environment inside of it were cleaned up it wouldn't have been a bad place to live.

The group quickly move through the brush, being careful not to draw any attention to themselves. They could hear shouting in the distance as the Ard Clan held off the rest of Uraala's attack force, restricting their advance to the tunnel that connected the dome to the hangar facility.

They arrived in the shadow of the tower. Exa crouched down and examined the structure with the advanced sensors inside of his helmet. "Four hostiles on the second floor," he announced. "One of them might be asleep. Two on the third floor."

"I got the four," one of the Ture said.

"Isle and I will take the other two," Exa added. "That looks to be a communications room. Harek Ard could be up there. Uraala, you stay down here with Natan."

"Like hell," Uraala spat. "I'm going up there."

"You don't have a jet pack," Exa said.

"I'll take the stairs," she retorted. Uraala double checked the safety on her blaster and then took off in a sprint towards the tower. Exa glanced at his comrades, received several shrugs, and then gave the order to take off.

Uraala ran as the others flew overhead. She quickly navigated the uneasy path that led to the tower's entrance, allowing her helmet's visor to protect her face as she recklessly barrelled through the stringy vegetation. She reached the entrance and paused, taking in her environment.

The floors on the interior of the tower were made up of durasteel grates. A set of stairs, also made of durasteel grating ran along the wall, gradually reaching each floor and descending below into subterranean levels. Gazing upwards she could see the four Gran Exa had spoke off. Three of them sat circled in chairs, messing with some kind of equipment. The fourth must have been lying in the bed that Uraala could see the bottom of. Flashes of light lit up the room as Ture landed, instantly dropping two of the Gran.

Uraala began her ascent up the stairs, but before she reach the first landing she heard a shout from below, muffled through her helmet, and then a shot. The armored shoulder of her suit exploded from behind. She was thrown forward into the stairs, the visor of her helmet striking the top step. The visor cracked but did not shatter.

Ignoring the searing pain burning through her shoulder Uraala rolled over onto her back. A Gran, who had apparently escaped Exa's scanner due to his presence below ground, stood before her, aiming a blaster pistol for another shot. Uraala fired just as the Gran did. His shot missed her face by centimeters, showering her visor in sparks from the grating, Uraala's struck him in the chest.

The Gran fell backwards, dying as he hit the ground. Uraala pushed herself to her feet and, in a rage, continued firing, pouring shot after shot into the Gran's chest. A sudden crash shook her out of her stupor as she felt the stairs shake. She turned, finding that Ture had knocked one of his opponents down the stairs. Uraala noticed the stab wound in the humanoid's chest. She fired two shots, finishing him off, and then stepped over his body.

Ture stood in the middle of the floor as she reached him, panting for breath but otherwise unharmed. The furniture was shattered into pieces around him, all of the other Gran dead. "Are you okay?" Ture asked, noticing her cracked visor, which was now splattered in blood.

"I'm fine," Uraala said. She glanced upward to the next floor. This one had solid floor planting that she couldn't see through. "Exa, status report," she shouted into her comm.

"We got him," Exa answered.

"You have Harek? Please confirm."

"Confirmed." There a muffled sound, like someone was shouting, just barely audible through Exa's helmet. Uraala took the next flight of stairs at a run and soon arrived at the third floor.

Isle stood behind Harek Ard, the leader of one of the largest Gran mercenary gangs in the Malastare system, a blaster pistol pointed at his back. The other Gran lay dead, a stab wound in the side of neck. Exa stood leaning behind the computer console at the center of the room.

"Order your people to surrender," Exa said. Harek hesitated, glancing at Uraala. The muscular Gran's rage seemed to deflate at the sight of Uraala's bloody armor, and the feeling of Isle's blaster at his back.

"Only if you let them walk away," Harek said, stubbornly, his three eyes staring at Uraala.

She removed her helmet and shook her lekku free, allowing Harek to see her face. "Fine, but they can't set foot in the Malastare system," Uraala said. "You're whole organization has to dissolve." Harek nodded and Uraala motioned for Exa to turn on the transceiver.

"This is the boss," Harek said loudly. "Everybody drop your weapons and surrender. It's over." Uraala switched her suits comms to a general broadcast that the rest of her people would pick up.

"The Ard clan is surrendering," she ordered. "Take their weapons and detain them." Several of her Twi'lek lieutenants signalled a confirmation, but Uraala wasn't ready to relax just yet. She walked over to Harek and placed her blaster pistol under his chin. "Tell me who helped you hit our hangar facility?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, smiling viciously.

"Exa, start cutting off his fingers," Uraala ordered. Exa removed a knife from his belt and brandished it.

"Your cousin contracted us. Tyrapa is a traitor," Harek revealed, pleasure, rather than fear, in his voice.

Uraala paused, playing back the recording function on her suits comm, confirming she had captured the revelation. "Thanks," she said, raising her blaster to the side of his head.

"Wait…" Exa began.

With a rage filled expression Uraala pulled the trigger, killing Harek instantly.

"Kriff Uraala," Exa exclaimed. He removed his helmet and glared at her. "He had surrendered. His people would have walked away quietly. When they've found out you've killed him…"  
 **"** They won't find out until we've already shipped them out of the system," Uraala said. "Or we could just kill them all…" Isle glanced between the two of them awkwardly.

"Aramis is right, that new medicine you're taking is messing with your head," Exa declared. "You really think your father would be okay with you turning into a mass murderer?"

Uraala was about to yell back at him when she realized she had unconsciously raised her blaster at him. He stared at her, his face going from angry to a look of concern. "I'm sorry…" she fell back into the nearest wall and slid to the floor, holding the blaster between her knees. She glanced over at Harek's dead body and felt an energizing flash of anger, but the anger was distant now, and the energy her rage provided faded quickly. Suddenly the constant adrenaline rush of the last several hours was gone. "I'm sorry."


	16. Dark Skai: Part III

**Chapter Sixteen**

Darth Vader stepped off of the turbolift and into darkness. The sensors in his helmet rendered everything inside of the Jedi Temple Archives in a fuzzy red light. It was wholly inadequate, another example of tech that seemed intentionally primitive inside of his suit. But a Sith Lord didn't need their eyes to see. He stretched out with his senses, discovering that his surroundings were much as he remembered them. The Archives had not yet been touched by the Emperor's remodeling. Much of the damage from the taking of the Temple remained, including the scattered corpses of the Jedi he had exterminated not weeks ago, which had been left to rot.

But, as Vader moved forward, he felt that he was not alone. There were ten presences surrounding him, prominent in the Force. "Reveal yourselves," Vader commanded.

The first being stepped forward, a yellow light igniting from behind it. The tall figure twirled a staff, revealing the blade of a yellow lightsaber emitting from one end. Vader recognized it instantly; it was the standard weapon of a Jedi Temple guard. Other lights joined the first. Two blue lightsabers, one wielded by an enormous Dowutin woman and the other by a gray alien whose species Vader couldn't recognize. A tall muscular male with pale green skin appeared between two rows of the Archive shelves from Vader's right hand side, a tall force pike in his hands. A much smaller Mirialan woman with yellow skin appeared from the shelves on the other side, carrying a pair of glowing red vibro knives.

Two more appeared from behind Vader, a blind Miraluka man wielding a green lightsaber and a slender Jango Jumper man with two vibroswords, one in each hand. Vader tilted his head upwards at the sound of someone jumping atop one of the Archive shelves. This one was a young woman with dark blue skin, a small unignited shoto style lightsaber in one hand and a vibro knife in the other. A human and a twi'lek stepped directly behind him, cutting off his escape route back to the turbolift, if he had felt inclined take it.

 _An ambush._ Vader felt a stinging sense of fear, but instantly converted the feeling into emotions he could use. Anger. Hate. He reached for his own lightsaber but suddenly remembered that the Emperor had taken it from him. These beings, the former Jedi Temple Guard amongst them, had not infiltrated the Temple. They had been let in. _So be it._

Vader spread his hands out before him, palms open. The beings arrayed around him inched forward, but no one seemed eager to be first. The floor around Vader began to vibrate, the shelves began to strain at their foundations. As the first of his ambushers, the enormous Dowutin woman, rushed forward, the tables and chairs in the room began to rise into the air.

The Dowutin raised her lightsaber towards Vader but was forced to break off her attack, swinging instead at a table that threatened to slam into her from behind. She sliced the the table in half with a grunt. Vader reached out with the Force, intending to grab the woman by the neck and crush her windpipe, but instead was forced to divert his attention towards the gray alien, who aimed a stabbing cut towards Vader's chest with his lightsaber. Vader stopped the the thrust as the blade was centimeters from his suit's chest mounted control panel, using the Force to grab hold of the alien and hold him in place. Vader shoved his hand forward, throwing the alien into the air and sending him crashing through one of the Archive shelves.

Vader spun as the muscular male alien with green skin attempted to bring his force pike down on Vader's armored shoulder pad. He grabbed outward with the Force, lifting the alien into the air and tossing him overhead. As he passed Vader reached out with his robotic hand and grabbed the pike, ripping it from the alien's grip.

Vader swung downwards, intercepting a graceful swipe from the yellow lightsaber belonging to the Jedi Temple guard. The lightsaber cut through the shaft of the pike, the spear head flying off into the distance. Vader swung upwards with the beheaded shaft of the pike; the Temple Guard blocked the blow but was knocked backwards by Vader's incredible strength. Vader followed it by a burst of telekinetic energy that blasted the Pau'an into the large Dowutin woman, knocking both of them aside.

The Dark Lord of the Sith had no time watch the results of that blow. He turned just as the Jango Jumper brought both of his vibroswords down in a twin swipe. Vader moved at the last second, allowing the blades to cut through his billowing cape but avoiding any real damage. Vader spun around and grabbed the slender man by the wrist with one of his cybernetic hands, crushing his forearm with a loud snap. He lifted the Jango Jumper into the air and threw him into the similarly sized Mirialan woman, causing her to abandon her attack.

Vader's danger sense swirled about him, threatening to overwhelm his ability to react. And so he forced his attackers to react to him. He brought chaos into life, ripping shelves from the floor and sending them into the ceiling, causing the young dark blue skinned woman to jump to safety. A human ran forward, standing between Vader and the turbolift. He dodged a crashing table and ignited a blue lightsaber from beneath his cloak. The pale skinned human swung it upwards towards Vader's chest, ignoring the crashing sound coming from above. A durasteel beam ripped itself from the ceiling and crushed the human, killing him instantly. Vader telekinetically pulled the lightsaber out of the human's hands, but couldn't catch it in time. Instead he felt a stinging sensation as the yellow lightsaber of the Temple guard struck the back of his shoulder. Howling in anger, Vader spun again and struck out with his forearm, striking the Pau'an man in the side of the head.

Vader spun the other way round and struck out with his fist, sending a telekinetic blast into the twi'lek just as he was about to stab him in the back with a green lightsaber. The blast struck the twi'lek, crushing his chest and sending him backwards into the lightsaber of one of his fellows, dismembering him.

While a handful of the others fell back the Dowutin woman struck again, bringing her lightsaber down in an attempt to sever Vader's left arm at the elbow. Instead he caught her hand and pulled, ripping her arm from its socket and causing her to scream in pain. The yellow skinned Mirialan woman rushed in, attempting to sink one of her vibroknives into Vader's hip. Instead the spearhead of the dismembered force spike stabbed her from behind, entering her rib cage and causing her to collapse in pain.

Vader pulled the Dowutin woman by the arm, moving her in front of another attack from the former temple guard. The guard's yellow lightsaber sliced off her hand and she fell to the floor. Vader swung her lightsaber, her hand still attached to hit, intercepting another attack. He followed with a powerful series of blows that knocked the guard off balance, but Vader was never able to capitalize. Every time there was an opening another of his foes would rush in, sometimes scoring a glancing blow against his armor, other times recieving a telekinetic blast that sent them flying before they could do any damage.

Vader parried another swipe from the guard and then wrapped himself in the Force. Next he struck down, blowing through the Pau'an's stance and snapping the lightsaber staff in two. The yellow blade sputtered out. Vader raised his lightsaber, about to bring it down and separate the guard's head from his body. Before he could strike the lights suddenly came on in the room.

"That's enough," came the raspy voice of Emperor Palpatine. Vader was about to bring the blue lightsaber down anyway when he felt a tug in the Force that pushed through his defenses and wrapped itself around his robotic arm, restraining him. Vader clenched his fist and crushed the blue lightsaber, raining debris onto the Pua'an's face, including the Dowutin's severed hand.

Palpatine casually strode through the ruins of the Archives, observing the destruction with a pleased expression. All around him Vader's attackers, the survivors anyway, rose to their feet. They all bowed towards Palpatine as he passed them.

"You performed well, Lord Vader," Palpatine said, without sarcasm. "Never forget what a _real_ Sith can do, even outnumbered ten to one," he added to the others, glancing around the room.

"These...weaklings...are your project?" Vader asked.

"Indeed," Palpatine nodded. "Two there should be, no more, no less. One to embody the power, the other to covet it. But the rule of two does not preclude the use of lesser servants. Tools. These acolytes will become the Inquisitorius. You will train them yourself, until their skills are adequate enough that they can hunt the remaining Jedi and their allies that cling to survival. So that they can carry out the other tasks required to maintain control of the galaxy, beyond what all of the stormtroopers and fleet admirals can provide."

"As you wish," Vader said.

Palpatine's hand disappeared beneath his robes, returning with the hilt of Vader's lightsaber. He held it out. "Never forget the price of disobedience. _No one_ is irreplaceable."

Fatigue finally beginning to return to his body, with the thrill of combat and the intoxicating power of the dark side fading, Vader took his lightsaber from his master. "I won't forget," he said, gripping the hilt tightly before clipping it to his belt. " _No one_ ," Vader thought to himself carefully, watching as Palpatine appraised each of the newly christened Inquisitors.

oOoOo

"This is it," Aramis announced to Lehal Jak. They stood at the entrance to Uraala's personal hangar, the Hyrotii Crescent-class transport parked before them. The vessel, with its curved forward-swept wings and polished durasteel exterior, had the appearance of a half moon as it reflected the night sky from within the open air hangar

"Wow," Lehal Jak said. He carried a bag over his shoulder, which he claimed carried all the belongings he cared about. Aramis, who was used to travelling light, could emphasize. He just wondered what the human was doing with all of his winnings from his numerous tournament appearances. "She just gave this to you?"

"I guess, when you are at the head of a smuggling empire, a single ship is a lot less significant that it is to you or I. But, yeah, she did. I think she was preparing to pass some things off in case her treatments didn't work out."

Jak nodded grimly in understanding. They boarded the ship side by side, the loading ramp unfolding from beneath the forward hull as Aramis punched the passcode into a hidden control panel. Aramis took the lead, showing Jak around. Corridors led off the sides from the central lounge area, curving with the shape of the wings. They set their bags in the lounge area and Aramis showed Jak a cabin he could use for the duration of their journey to Obroa-Skai. The ship was large enough to comfortably accommodate a half a dozen people, so there was plenty of room for the two of them.

Aramis led the way into the bridge, which sat at the nose of the ship between the two points of the wings that made up the crescent shape the ship was named after. He sat down in the pilot's chair and nodded towards the other, which Jak sat in.

"Are you as good of a pilot as you are a fighter?" Jak asked.

"The Jedi Temple taught us to fly and navigate," Aramis answered. "But I never really got much practice until recently. So far I've avoided crashing into anything, if that qualifies as 'good'."

"I just figured with your fast reflexes…"

"The instructors at the Temple always said that good reflexes only got you so far without proper training. I know how to operate the controls but nobody has yet shot at me while I was flying, so I'm not sure if I'm good at it or not."

"Fair answer," Jak said, laughing slightly.

Aramis activated the ship's comm and received a clearance confirmation from the spaceport. Soon he lifted the ship into the air and began to rise into Malastare's upper atmosphere. "I need to take a detour before we head to Obroa-Skai. Uraala's on an outer planet…"

"That message you received on our way to the spaceport…"  
 **"** It was from her father. He told me to come see her before I was off. I wanted to anyway, but she's been..."

"But she's been busy," Jak finished for him.

"I was going to say not herself," Aramis said, grimacing. "But she's been that too." The Crescent-class transport proved speedy as it exited Malastare's atmosphere and entered interplanetary space. The trip to the dwarf planet at the edge of the system required a short micro jump into hyperspace; the blue swirl distinct to hyperspace travel had hardly enough time to materialize before they were returning to realspace. Aramis banked the ship until their destination came into view.

The dwarf planet hanging in space before them was a mix of purple and pale green shades, the barest hint of an atmosphere visible. Its status as less than a full planet rendered it left out of most informational star charts, unless one dug into navigational data buried on the holonet. But to the natives of Malastare the little word was known as Dar'Muri, the 'Lost Wanderer' in Basic. As they neared orbit Aramis activated the comm and switched over to Palor Aven's frequency. A moment later Uraala's father answered.

"You're on your way?" he asked. They could hear the sound of voices in the background, as if he was in a large room with a lot of people.

"We've just entered Dar'Muri orbit," Aramis answered.

"I'll transmit you our coordinates. You'll see four domes set in the hills above a canyon. The hangar bay is in the canyon," Palor said. To Aramis's' ear the elder Aven lacked his usual good cheer. In fact he had never heard him so serious, although his experiences with him had been rather brief so far.

"Understood," Aramis said. He pushed forward on the control sticks, lowering the ship into Dar'Muri's thin atmosphere. They continued on, flying over the craggy hills of Dar'Muri until the complex that Palor described came into view. Aramis lowered his speed and descended towards the canyon. The hangar looked ancient, with a hardened industrial look colored with rust and corrosion. He hoped that the internal systems that ran the magnetic field, the invisible force that kept air from within the hangar from escaping into the thin atmosphere, were better maintained than the exterior would suggest.

Flipping a switch extended the vessel's squat landing legs and the Crescent-class transport settled onto the hangar floor. Aramis' eyes widened when he took in the scene surrounding them. Lines of Gran mercenaries were being led into boxy transports that were similar in shape to those used by the Separatists to transport battle droids during the Clone Wars. Each line was guarded by a handful of twi'lek guards armed with blaster rifles.

"Haven't seen something like this since the war ended," Jak said.

"I suppose you didn't see the transmissions coming out of Kashyyyk," Aramis said in a subdued voice. He shut down the main engines of the ship and then exited the bridge. Jak hesitated before following, his attention still on the scene unfolding outside of the viewport.

Aramis descended the boarding the ramp beneath the nose of the ship. A few of the twi'leks glanced over at him, nodding in way of a greeting. Aramis nodded back. He only recognized a few of them, and knew none of them by name, but clearly most of the organization knew of Uraala's new boyfriend. Or however else they thought of him.

Aramis approached one of the guards who stood near the back of the hangar. "I'm here to meet with Palor," he said.

"He's in the control center at the back of the hangar facility," the guard answered. "He's expecting you."

"Right," Aramis said. Jak made to follow but the guard stepped in front of him.

"Sorry, security is sensitive right now," the guard said. "You should stay with your ship."

Jak looked slightly perturbed but backed off.

"I won't be long," Aramis said, trying to reassure him.

"I'm fine staying with the ship," Jak said, shrugging slightly. "I need to unpack anyway."

Aramis watched the human turn back and heads towards the ship before continuing through the large blast doors the separated the hangar from the facility behind it.

The space behind the hangar looked to be a storage and maintenance facility. Everywhere he went there were signs of the battle that had just ended prior to his arrival. Carbon scoring and blast marks covered the walls. There were dead bodies, Gran and Twi'lek alike, scattered about. Eventually he found the control room, which was at the top of a short staircase in a tall room. As Aramis ascended the stairs he noticed four humans in full Mandalorian battle gear at the top, standing in front of the entrance. He recognized Exa Karr amongst them.

"Hey," the Mandalorian greeted, his sweat dripping from his blonde hair, causing his forehead to glisten. Aramis couldn't help but notice there was blood on Exa's armor, although it did not appear to be his own.

"Looks like this was a pretty intense battle," Aramis began.

"Yeah…" Exa said. "We probably could have used your help."

"I wasn't invited," Aramis said gently. Exa didn't look surprised. The Mandalorian wore a grim expression.

"She's inside with her father," he said at last. Aramis nodded and passed by the group. He entered the control room, which was a long, narrow room with computer stations lining one side. Viewports provided a view of the canyon that the entrance to the hangar was hidden within.

Palor sat in a rolling chair in front of his daughter. The older twi'lek wore a brown overcoat over an armored breastplate, which seemed a rather tight fit over the aging gangster's prominent belly. He wore an anguished expression on his face as Uraala spoke to him.

For her part Uraala seemed unharmed, for which Aramis was infinitely grateful. But she did look fatigued, more so than he had seen her since she had started her new treatment. Neither of the Aven's seemed to realize Aramis had entered the room, not until he cleared his throat and waited for them to turn.

Uraala started and then rose to her feet. She took in Aramis with her eyes, her expression quickly gliding from relief to shame. She crossed the meter separating them and threw herself into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she began. She wasn't sobbing, but she seemed close to it.

"What happened?" Aramis asked. "You left without telling me anything."

"I...I knew there was a fight coming. I didn't want you involved. Family business…"

"You know that I would have helped, no matter what," Aramis answered.

"She executed the leader of the Ard clan," Palor said from behind them. Aramis looked over at him. He looked angry, but his anger didn't seem directed entirely at Uraala.

"He had surrendered, had ordered his people to stop fighting, and…I murdered him," Uraala admitted.

"You were in a battle…" Aramis began slowly. "They attacked first, at the hangar." He didn't know why he was trying to excuse her behavior. Killing a defenseless prisoner was against every precept of the Jedi, precepts that he still believed in even though the Jedi Order was gone.

"I've never been bloodthirsty like this before," Uraala said. "I'm not trying to excuse my actions or claim I was never in control, but...you're warnings about my treatment? You were right. That medicine is altering my behavior. Changing the way I treat the people I care about, much less enemies."

"My daughter has been involved in a lot of fights and skirmishes over her young career," Palor said. "But she's never been this careless. We could have removed the Ard clan from this fight, now, even though we are shipping them out, we will have to look over our shoulders. They will be seeking revenge." The elder twi'lek switched his gaze from Uraala to Aramis. "What it is exactly about her treatment that perturbs you so? She told me that it is highly experimental…"

"They make it by combining a special bacta mix with narcotic spice," Aramis answered. "The final ingredient is powdered kyber crystal. They are trying to harness the Force to boost the healing effects, but the Force reacts unpredictably when you try to do something like this. I'm not a Jedi, but I have some of their Force sensitivity. Her treatment, it gives off sensations that come only from the Dark Side."

"Would that explain why it is making her...darker, more impulsive?" Palor asked.

"Those are traits generally associated with the dark side of the Force," Aramis said, nodding.

"And yet she can't stop taking her injections altogether. Without them she wouldn't survive long," Palor added, his voice falling.

"I believe there may be another solution out there," Aramis said. "The previous enhance bacta treatments, these new injections, they are only attempting to treat the symptoms of her problem. A problem that began when a Sith artifact exploded near her."

"What are you suggesting?" Uraala asked.

"The problem is coming from the Force. You're tainted somehow. I believe that only the Force itself can help her, not some concoction mixed together by mad scientists. If I had access to the Jedi archives I might be able to find a solution. But since that is not possible, we have to try the next best center of knowledge in the galaxy. Obroa-Skai."

"That's where you're heading off to?" Palor asked. Aramis nodded. "That may do nicely."

"What do you mean?" Aramis asked.

"I'm a target now," Uraala said. "Every member of the Ard clan, and all of their allies on Malastare, want me dead. Not to mention my Uncle and cousin…"

"You're Uncle?" Aramis asked.

"Has betrayed us," Palor said. "Tyrapas led the attack on the hangar, gave the Ard clan the access codes. My brother wanted his immature son to be the heir ever since Uraala got sick. When she started getting better…"

"We haven't told anyone else yet, none of the lieutenants. We don't know who will remain loyal to my father and who will throw their support behind my uncle."  
 **"** I believe most of them will remain with me," Palor said. "But not all. There is going to be a civil war. Uraala can't stay on Malastare." He looked down at his daughter. "You have to go with him to Obroa-Skai."

"If I leave I'm basically giving up my claim to leadership," Uraala said, grimacing. "If I run away who will want to follow me in the future."

"If you stay it will be nearly impossible to fight this war. Between the Ard clan, my brother's loyalists, whoever else they can pay off…"

"Yeah, I get it," Uraala said. He pushed herself out of Aramis' arms. "Fine. Obroa-Skai it is."

He noticed that the dark circles beneath her eyes were beginning to return. Her skin was beginning to look pallid. Despite the dark nature of her treatment, it did seem to be keeping her alive. "If you take half doses of your injections how long can you go without coming back?" Aramis asked.

"A month, maybe," she answered.

Aramis grimaced. He took one of her hands in his, their blue skin tones nearly matching. "We can do this."

Palor placed his hand on Aramis's back. "I'm glad she found you," he said. "I hope you're Jedi training can help her." He turned to his daughter. "I believe I can resolve this conflict in a month."

"Are you going to kill…" Uraala began.

"I have to, now. He's forced my hand," Palor finished.


	17. Dark Skai: Part IV

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Thick smog shrouded the LiMerge Building within the Coruscanti district known as The Works. Long ago the area had been a center of industrial production, before manufacturing moved offworld in search of cheaper labor. Now it was semi-abandoned, the rusted factories and towers giving the area a hellish appearance. It was the perfect place for the temporary headquarters of the Inquisitorius. It was perfect place for Darth Vader to begin strengthening these new dark side acolytes to point that they'd be useful.

The surviving members of the group that had ambushed Darth Vader in the Jedi Temple Archives stood in a line as their new master inspected them. The roof of the cavernous room towered high above them, steam from the machinery hanging like a sickly fog near the ceiling. All of them, from the pale toned Pau'an man to the tall Dowutin woman, stood at silent attention. Near the end of the line, seemingly the most unassuming of all, was a thin woman of medium height, her dark blue skin showing beneath the dark armor that each of the Inquisitors wore.

"Your training thus far has been inadequate," Vader spoke, his deep voice booming. "Your grasp of the dark side tenuous." Vader glanced at the Pau'an. "Some of you have Jedi training. You must forget everything that they taught you. The Dark Side is fueled by emotion, by passion. Embrace your fear, your anger, your hatred. Embrace the true power of the Force." Vader held out his hand. Behind him the piping that lined the walls began to warp and bend, as if an invisible hand was crushing it.

A droid approached from the side, a thin, skeletal model that seemed like it had stepped out of a lava pit on Mustafar. Its black and grey plating was warped and pockmarked, one of its eyes knocked slightly out of place. In the droid's outstretched hands rested a large metal tray, upon which ten circular rings lay. One of the rings lifted itself into the air and floated into Vader's outstretched hand. He held the ring out and gripped it by the handle that lay at the center. Suddenly a bright red blade erupted from one side.

The group standing before Vader instinctively shied away as he pointed the tip of the lightsaber towards them. Next Vader moved the hilt until the blade was parallel to the line of recruits. With a snap hiss a second blade erupted from the other side of the ring.

"These will be your weapons," Vader said. "Your tool as you hunt down the last remaining Jedi as they try to cling to the old ways. Your tool as enforce the will of the Emperor. Your tool as you do what must be done to bring peace and order to this broken galaxy." He deactivated the lightsaber and handed it the Pau'an standing in front of him, at the center of the line. "Break off into pairs and begin training with your new weapons. Soon your trials will begin."

With that Vader turned from the group and strode from the cavernous room, leaving the recruits to their own devices.

oOoOo

The world of Obroa-Skai revolved in space below the _Crescent_ -class transport, reflecting blue, green, and golden light upon the polished hull of the ship. Aramis's eyes widened as he took in the vista stretching out below them. Lehal Jak sat in the rear seat, to the left, while Uraala occupied the co-pilot chair beside him. She adjusted controls on the ship's scanners, looking out for any unwanted attention. Marring the picturesque view were two arrowhead shaped warships in high orbit, bone white vessels glittering in the distance like the bones of a predatory animal. Imperial-class Star Destroyers, fresh out of the KDY shipyards, stood like sentinels over the world below them.

"There's a lot of traffic in and out of those destroyers," Uraala said. They had only been away from Malastare for a couple days, yet she seemed to have responded well to the reduced dosages of her medication. She had maintained most of the renewed energy her new medication had given her, without the darkened mood. Aramis liked to think that the meditation lessons he had been giving Lehal Jak, which Uraala had joined, were helping. But he didn't know for sure. And she had a lot weighing on her mind. They had no idea how well her father's civil war with her uncle was going.

"Troop transports," Jak said, peering over their shoulder at one of the sensor screens.

"Looks like your homeworld is under Imperial occupation," Uraala said. Jak's visage darkened but he didn't seem surprised.

"Should we try one of the spaceports or…" Aramis began.

"No," Jak interrupted. "Head for the northern part of the southern continent. There is a small agricultural town with a hover train depot. We should land in the forests between there and the river."

"Forests are usually good places to hide a ship," Uraala agreed. "I'll go get my hiking boots on." She placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze before withdrawing from the bridge. Aramis titled the controls, turning the transport away from the Imperial ships and beginning the descent through the upper atmosphere and towards the destination Jak described. Obroa-Skai seemed an odd mix of dense urban cities and rural countryside. The cities were all circular in shape, usually centered around towers that stretched high into the sky. Aramis found the mix of stone and transparisteel construction captivating. Each city had a singular coordinated aesthetic, something that urbans centers on Malastare and Coruscant lacked.

They flew over a shallow sea, the water glistening in early the morning sunlight. Huge trimaran sailing ships slowly traversed the water, their triple hulls bouncing gently over the waves. Aramis found himself wishing the Jedi had built their Temple on a world like this instead of on an overpopulated duracrete labyrinth like Coruscant. A coastline became visible on the horizon, with Jak leaning forward and peering through the viewport.

"Bank west," he said. "Fly flow." Aramis obeyed, lowering the ship until they were just a few meters above the treetops. He slowed until he spotted a trio of structures, grain silos, peeking out from the top of the forest ahead. Aramis spotted an opening in ahead, a small clearing that wasn't quite big enough for the ship. But the branches of the trees offered little resistance as he titled the nose upwards and lowered the repulsors. The sound of the branches scratching against the hull sounded like nails on a chalkboard, followed by a loud thump as the ship settled on the ground. "Not my best landing," Aramis said. "But it will have to do."

"I can get some people to cover our ship once we make it to the village," Jak said. Aramis undid his restraints and rose out of his chair.

"You know the locals?" he asked.

"My uncle lives here," Jak nodded. "I've been away awhile, but small towns like this don't change much." Jak led the way out of the bridge, with Aramis following behind.

"I feel like the Empire might have something to say about that…" he whispered. Uraala was snapping a gun belt around her waist as Aramis and Jak entered the ship's lounge. Two large blaster pistols were holstered on each hip, with spare ammo cartridges in between.

"Is all of that necessary?" Jak asked.

"Did you not notice those Star Destroyers up there?" she answered. "Those things can hold a lot of troopers."

"True. But nobody carries weapons on Obroa-Skai," Jak said, frowning. "This world has one of the lowest crimes rates outside of the Core...you'll stick out."

Uraala wrinkled her nose but unclipped her belt and dropped the blasters onto the lounge sofa. When Jak turned away she pulled the bottom of her white shirt up, revealing a concealed pocket blaster. "Better safe than sorry," she whispered.

Aramis donned a brown cloak, identical to the one Jak wore, and followed the older human down the loading ramp. Uraala took the rear. Aramis glanced back at the ship's polished hull as the loading ramp folded up behind them. He noticed their reflections bouncing back at them, and he realized suddenly that he almost resembled a Jedi with the cloak draped over his shoulders.

The trio moved through the forest, following Jak's lead. Eventually they came to a clearing, a field that full of some crop that Aramis didn't recognize. The plants were stalky and tall, with the end of each branching out in a wide brimmed purple flower. Silvery veins in the petals seemed to shine with an inner light that seemed to flash every time the wind moved through the field.

"What is this stuff?" Aramis asked as Jak led the way through the field.

"It becomes dye for clothing," Jak answered. "It conducts electricity so it's handy for making hi tech weaves." The plants silvery threads seem to light up in response, making Aramis suspicious the plants could hear them. The group emerged on the from the other side of the field. A two story farmhouse, a large silo that seemed to be a multi-purpose fuel tank, and a huge barn were in a triangular formation, with a clearing that served as a landing pad in the middle.

"Do we just walk up to the front door or…" Uraala began.

"I think we've been noticed," Aramis interrupted. An older human who was so alike Jak except for his huge wiry beard, interwoven with white, stood between the house and the silo, a blaster rifle in his hands with a huge scope that looked like it was meant for shooting varmints rather than people. Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, stood to either side behind him, trying to look intimidating but succeeding only in looking intimidated.

"Uncle Paku," Jak said, holding his arms wide in order to clap the eldest member of the family on the shoulder. The man was as tall as Jak, and just as muscular as well, despite the arena fighter's years of training.

"Lehal," Paku answered. "We heard a ship fly by...imagine my surprise when you walk out of the electro-dye field. How many years has it been?" he asked, his voice deep and carrying loudly.

"Since before the war," Jak answered. "These are some friends of mine," he added, backing away from his uncle's hug and nodding towards Aramis and Uraala, who each introduced themselves respectfully but not giving much more than a name.

"After all this time what brings you back to Obroa-Skai?" Paku asked. "Did you find all the answers you were looking for out there?"  
 **"** Unfortunately no," Jak said, shaking his head. "The war put all of that on pause...especially with how it ended." Aramis glanced at Jak, knowing full well he referred to the fall of the Jedi. "We're here to speak with Professor Haldas."

"Course you would be back for that old dinosaur," Paku said with a sigh.

"I haven't spoken with him since I left," Jak said. "Is he still in charge of the archeology college?"

"He is, but he had to relocate to the Capital just a few weeks ago," Paku revealed. "The Imperials showed up, as I'm sure you've noticed, and they're reorganizing the university system. Consolidating all of the leadership."  
 **"** The university system has been the same for hundreds of years…" Jak said.

"Yeah well, you can tell them that," Paku said. He glanced at Aramis and Uraala. "I'm guessing there is a reason you landed in a forest and not at one of the spaceports."

"We're trying to avoid Imperial scanners," Uraala said, nodding.

"I planned to take the hovertrain to Coaston. But if Haldas has been moved to the capital…"

"You'll have to take the southern train," Paku said. "But the Imperials have restricted rail traffic to the daylight hours. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Would you be willing to house us for the night?" Aramis asked.

"Sure, plenty of room," Paku agreed. He turned to the teenagers flanking him. "Go tell your grandmother we've got guests."

"We also need to hide our ship," Jak added.

Paku ran his fingers through his wild beard. "Well, we could use one of the bird nets. It's an electro-weave, so we can program it to look like like the tree tops." Paku glanced between Aramis and Jak. "Two strong young lads like yourselfs, help me load the net into one our hover tractors."

"I'm not getting left behind," Uraala said, scowling slightly.

"My mistake," Paku said, raising his hands in apology and letting out a booming laugh.

oOoOo

Aramis leaned out of the open window in the second story of the barn located on Paku's farm. It was the late evening, with the last vestiges of daylight quickly receding over the horizon. A soft purple glow emanated from the electro-dye field, accented by flashes of light from the petals that looked like miniature lightning storms.

"I don't know if I've ever seen a world prettier than this," Aramis said. The second story of the barn was large enough that parts of it had been converted into sleeping quarters for the part time workers Paku hired during harvest season. He had put Aramis and Uraala up here, while Jak overnighted inside of the house. Aramis didn't mind, however. He was much more interested in taking in the nature that surrounded them. Dantooine had even less development than Obroa-Skai did, but it was much more featureless, without the oceans or forests to breakup the sea of grasslands. Malastare had undeveloped areas as well, but Aramis had never spent any time outside of Pixelito City. Aramis had only been away from Coruscant for a couple of months now. The lack of skyscrapers and layers of duracrete surrounding him still felt odd.

"How many worlds have you seen?" Uraala asked. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was attempting to stretch the time between doses of her medicine as long as she could, which meant the return of her symptoms. But they weren't as extreme as before, at least.

 _Not yet,_ Aramis thought to himself. "Not very many," Aramis said aloud. "I was Temple Security...which meant I pretty much stayed around the Temple."

"I started running cargo for my father when I was a teenager," Uraala said. "I've seen more worlds than I can count. If you think this field is pretty you should see Felucia light up at night."

"Dantooine set off my allergies," Aramis said. "I can't imagine what all the fungus spores would do me."

"Well, there is Mon Cala, an ocean world. Phosphorescent fish ride the waves just before sundown in a mating ritual. The schools of fish go on for kilometers."

"Wow," Aramis remarked.

"Yeah," she responded. "The sad part is that poachers can easily spot them and they swoop down with huge nets strung between airspeeders. I was there to deal with some of them and the guard came down on us."

"How did you get away?" Aramis asked.

She smirked mischievously. "I turned my ion cannons on our buyers, knocked them out of the sky. They would've gotten away if I hadn't shot them down, so the Mon Calamari let us go with a warning."

"Lucky," Aramis said. "Jedi Temple Security wasn't very lenient like that. That was probably it was so hard to track down sources. That and everyone thought there was half a chance the Jedi would snatch their children."

"I'll admit to trading those kinds of stories when you wanted to scare a kid. _Behave or the Jedi will come for you,"_ Uraala said.

"Unfortunately there was some truth in that rumour," Aramis said quietly.

"Is that how you ended up with them?" Uraala asked. "I've always thought it was odd they kept the identity of your parents from you, or even what homeworld you came from and what species you belong to."

"I was given to the Jedi by my parents," Aramis said. "They were refugees who somehow knew I was Force Sensitive. But they didn't stay at the Jedi Temple long. When I was accepted to Security Forces I gained access to the Archives but there weren't any records about my parents. They were only at the Temple a couple of weeks. Later on I was able to check civilian records but they seemed to have disappeared."

"You think they are still out there somewhere?"

"I'm not sure," Aramis admitted.

"Maybe while we are looking up Jedi medical records at this university we can try and find out where your parent's might have come from."

"I...I hadn't thought that."

"It's worth a try," Uraala said, squeezing him tightly. Outside the evening advanced into night. The flickering light from the electro-dye field continued to flash and flow like a web of energy. Every now and then the sound of a TIE fighter howling in the distance interrupted the serenity like the call of an angry predator on the hunt.

oOoOo

The recruits paired off as Vader instructed them, each taking one of the ring-like lightsabers and using them against each other for the first time, albeit on low power so as not to cause any unnecessary loss of life or limb. Vader, a Dark Lord of the Sith, could do as he wished, but his underlings did not have permission to kill each other. That didn't stop their training exercises from becoming heated.

The Pua'an man squared off against the smaller woman with the dark blue skin. They didn't know each others names, as every member of this new group was supposed to delete their previous lives from memory. They had yet to receive new designations either, which made them feel as if they didn't have an identity at all.

The Pua'an, who was tall, thin, and gaunt, eyed his lightsaber with a critical eye. He was a former Jedi Temple guard, trained in the mastery of a saber pike. This was a very different weapon. He gave the saber a few test swings. The ring-like hilt seemed to inhibit rather than enhance his freedom of movement.

Opposite of him the woman with the dark blue skin, belonging to a species that nobody else in the room was familiar with, kept her saber switched off. She studied her opponent silently, her eyes seeming to take in every detail of his movement.

"Are you ready?" the Pua'an asked, his Core-worlds accent proper and upper class.

"I don't warn my enemy before I cut them down," the young woman answered back. Her accent was also from the Core, but it lacked any sense of pomposity.

"Well said," the Pua'an responded, immediately before he lunged with his lightsaber. The woman activated her lightsaber at the last second, batting away the blade when it was inches from her face. Instead of counter-attacking she continued to deflect and dodge all of the Pua'an's attacks in a style that defied classification. The Pua'an soon grew frustrated but resisted tapping into his anger, a lingering result of his Jedi training. His opponent had no such hang up.

The classically trained swordsman began to throw more of his weight behind his strikes in an attempt to knock her lightsaber out of her hands. Her entire body was shoved backwards as she blocked each attack, until eventually he achieved his goal and her ring saber went flying. His eye's widened triumphantly as he watched the blade sail away, but then he felt a slight sting against his throat.

The woman had leapt towards him, drawing a plasma knife from some hidden sheath within her uniform and placing against his throat.

"Yield," she said, venom in her voice. The Pua'an scowled angrily but held up his hands in a sign of defeat. A floating camera droid hovered above them, recording every moment of their duel. Identical droids floated over the other soon-to-be Inquisitors, the low hum of their repulsors filling the room with noise, accentuated with the clashing of lightsabers and angry yelps as some of the combatants received non-fatal blows.

"That won't happen again," the Pua'an warned her.

"Not to worry," she smirked. "I'll kill you a different way each time."


	18. Dark Skai: Part V

**Chapter Eighteen**

A hovertrain flew along the coastline, morning light glittering off of the waves in flashes that were not unlike the electro-weave fields outside of Paku's farm. The train was a bulky thing, each car shaped like a long, upright parallelogram that were connected by electro fields that pulsed with a purple light. Aramis stood in a corner near the back of one of the thick durasteel cars. He wore a pair of white overalls and a frayed wicker hat, borrowed from Paku. He felt ridiculous.

Lehal Jak was dressed the same as him. The human, who stood near the front of the car, seemed much comfortable in the outfit, however. Between the two of them were several large bundles of electro-weave, ready to be processed and shipped offworld. A couple of other passengers occupied the car as well, each of them watching their own cargo that was bound for the spaceports.

Aramis swayed forward as the hovertrain slowed. He could hear a blaring siren from the outside of the train that alternated between high and low notes. He guessed that it signalled their arrival to the station. A door at the front of the car opened and Uraala entered the compartment.

Instead of the farmer getup she wore a business suit, borrowed from one of Jak's cousins. Aramis figured that, with her background as a blackmarket trader, she could portray her cover as a commodity salesperson well. She carried a datapad in the crux of her arm, and, as she used it to scan one of the electro-weave bundles, one of her lekku fell from her shoulders. She twitched the tip of her head tail ever so slightly, in full awareness that he was watching her. Aramis felt a warm sensation spread throughout his chest as he couldn't help but smile. He lowered the brim of his hat when he glanced over and realized Jak was smirking at him knowingly.

The train shuddered as it finally came to a stop. A great sliding door came open in the side of the car, flooding the interior with blinding light. A pair of customs officials gestured for the passengers to step out onto the platform while they inspected the cargo. Aramis found himself standing on a platform made of sandstone. Great metallic columns rose into the air, supporting a transparisteel roof that was so clear it was almost invisible. A small crowd gathered at the back of the platform as passengers left the cars. Aramis quickly noticed a squad of Imperial stormtroopers examining each passenger as they moved through the security checkpoint. He was momentarily taken aback by the new kit the soldiers wore, an update from the armor worn by the Republic's clone troopers. For reason he couldn't quite place the new gear seemed inferior to the old.

Aramis and Jak waited until Uraala was finished with the customs official, who seemed to buy her cover without complaint. "Are we going to have a problem?" Aramis asked both of them, eyeing the stormtroopers.

"They're probably only checking for proper documents," Uraala said, although she didn't seem overly confident. Aramis glanced around the platform. The security checkpoint was the only exit. There was a twenty meter drop to a brushy forest below them off the edge of the platform. Beyond the checkpoint loomed a huge wall, made up of the same tan sandstone as the platform. A large boulevard like walkway led up to the tunnel that cut through the wall. The trio got into the line, which moved slowly. Nearly thirty minutes later they made it to the checkpoint.

"Documents out," a stormtrooper demanded. Aramis tried to look as relaxed as possible as he stared into the black eyes of the trooper's helmet.

"They're with me," Uraala said, motioning towards Aramis and Jak. She presented her datapad, which the stormtrooper handed to a black KX-series security droid.

"Their permits are in order," the droid said in its slightly monotone voice. The stormtrooper took the datapad back and shoved it into Uraala's hands.

"Don't overstay your welcome snake head," the stormtrooper said with disgust as he stepped aside. Uraala ignored the comment while Aramis couldn't help but glare at the soldier. Jak prodded him through the checkpoint before the stormtrooper could notice.

"Careful," Jak whispered. The trio followed the crowd towards the wall, which towered over them. They travelled through the tunnel and soon emerged on the other side.

The causeway that stretched before them wound itself through the heart of the city, abandoning geometric precision for curvilinear grace. The office and residential buildings on either side of the avenue rose in sandstone turrets like that of pre-industrial castles. Ivy clung to the walls on many of the buildings, leading the eye upwards towards the rooftop parks and gardens that stretched across the skyline. Unlike on Coruscant there were no unending lines of traffic cars zooming overhead. Instead passenger cars hovered near the street, picking up passengers and transporting them at slow speeds near the ground. If it wasn't for the presence of an occasional stormtrooper on a street corner or a reconnaissance droid hovering above the gardens, it seemed the city had not yet noticed the occupation the world was now under.

"Where to?" Aramis asked.

"First we need to change clothes," Jak answered. Aramis and Uraala followed him a short way down the main avenue before he diverged down an alley between two of the castle-like residential buildings. The path narrowed until the group could only walk single file. Just when Aramis was beginning to wonder if Jak was lost they came to a space that widened into a courtyard landing platform. A small droid transport, no bigger than the waist high bundles of electro-weave back on the train, sat on the platform. The building on the other side was broad and short, a sloping roof clad in faded red tile topping the structure. Numerous durasteel pipes erupted from the roof, a cloud of steam rising out of them. "We just have to wait," Jak said as he passed by the transport droid and headed towards a thick door in the side of the building.

The wait extended for nearly twenty minutes, which threatened to lull Aramis to sleep. It didn't help that the chirping of birds that came from every rooftop made him feel like he was in one giant labyrinthine park. And then, quite suddenly, the dull grey door clattered open. A load lifter droid exited the building, shaped like a miniature patrol walker that carried a plasteel laundry basket instead of blaster cannons. "Now is our chance," Jak announced. He jumped through the door before it close, followed closely by Aramis and Uraala. It shut with a loud bang behind them an instant later. Jak went down the hall, which was almost pitch black, until he entered a room that seemed more similar to a factory than a laundry.

Large dome shaped containers vibrated noisily throughout the room, which stretched to either wall of the buildng. Load lifter droids waddled between the machines, some of them carrying dirty laundry, others carrying laundry that was fresh from the washers. Huge cylinder shaped dryers operated towards the back of the room. There wasn't a single organic being overseeing any of it. Jak moved towards a corner of the room. Another droid, this one humanoid in shape, was sorting cleaned laundry by size, placing articles of clothing into numbered bins that rested along a long shelf. The droid ignored Jak as he found the appropriate bin and removed a white shirt.

"What were you saying about the low crime rate on this planet?" Uraala asked as Jak began removing his farmers outfit in exchange for the university uniform.

"The uniforms are owned by the university," he answered with a smirk. "As long as we throw them into a bin before we leave the planet we aren't stealing them. Just borrowing."

"What does your Jedi code say about this?" Uraala asked Aramis as she began removing her business suit.

"As long they were acting for the greater good the Jedi didn't really concern themselves much about property rights," Aramis answered, not really picking up on Uraala's sarcasm. "Jedi would steal people's speeders if they really needed to. Just yell 'Jedi business' and you were good."  
 **"** I'm beginning to understand why most people don't miss the Jedi that much…" Jak said with an amused smile.

Several minutes later the trio emerged from the laundry building looking for the world like nothing more than three fresh faced students on their first day of school. All three of them wore white pants, a white dress shirt, and a light blue jacket. Together they exited the back alleys and rejoined the main avenue. Jak continued to lead the way. Soon enough a large circular tower loomed over them that was built like an arena stacked atop itself. Huge columns of white stone rose upwards, supporting multiple towers that rose into the sky. A large plaza of white and black stone surrounded the massive complex, separating it from the city.

"It's like a literal ivory tower," Aramis commented.

"I don't think you're one to talk," Uraala retorted as they made their way across the plaza. Every twenty meters a huge fountain would burst like a geyser from the ground. Other students, most of them wearing uniforms identical to the ones Aramis, Jak, and Uraala had stolen, sat on benches surrounding the fountains. As the trio crossed the plaza the groups of students hardly glanced in their direction.

The passed beneath the higher tier of the university. A ring of tiered stairs lead upwards to grand entrances that were cut every forty five degrees along the circumference of the complex. Groups of students passed through each of the entrances under the watchful of a squad of stormtroopers, who did not seem to be stopping anyone or examining identification documents. Their only purpose seemed aimed towards intimidation.

The trio ascended the steps and passed through the entrance, with only a spare glance from the stormtroopers. They all exhaled only once they were well out of sight. The corridor, shaped similarly to the tunnel they had passed through on their way into the city, had turbolifts lining each side in groups of four. Jak passed them by, instead leading into a central atrium. The courtyard at the bottom of the university was like an enormous garden. Fountains surrounding by floating plants lined meeting areas and park benches. A small restaurant in the middle of it all dispense with caf and small pastries. Winged insects floated in the air, their bright colors breaking up the dullness of the red and black brick floor and the off-white walls. Huge skylights in the walls reflected bright sunlight into the interior. It hardly felt like the inside of a building at all.

The walls along the circumference of the interior were broken up by balconies and windows, which provided the classrooms and offices a commanding view of the courtyard. Spherical messenger droids flitted back and forth high above them, a flock punctuated now and then by a black Imperial reconnaissance droid.

"Did you go to school here?" Uraala asked as they gazed out onto the scene before them.

"I wasn't a student, but I did work here," Jak answered. "Professor Haldas' offices used to up there," he added, looking upwards toward the windows of the higher level windows.

"Your uncle said he's been moved to capital," Aramis said.

"Yeah. But we aren't going get very far in borrowed student's uniforms," Jak said. "I need to find some hard intel on what's been going on since the Empire arrived. I think I'll be able to get into his former offices. He was never one for changing his security passcodes."

"What should we do in the meantime?" Uraala asked.

"Keep a low profile," Jak answered. "Try to stay off of the Empire's scanners. I'll meet you at midday over by the cafe." The group separated, with Jak moving down the periphery of the enormous courtyard.

"Care to join me for a cup?" Uraala asked as she began to step towards the center of the room before having to defer to a butterfly that fluttered in front of her.

"Sure," Aramis replied. "I can imagine a lot of worse ways to pass the time," he added as a black Imperial droid floated overhead.

oOoOo

The woman with the dark blue skin woke suddenly, although no obvious alarm interrupted her sleep. Small slivers of pale golden light illuminated the sorry excuse for a dormitory room that she had been assigned in the LiMerge industrial building on Coruscant. She had only a small cot for furniture. An open clothes hanger was her only amenity. Her training outfit, a black and grey jumpsuit, was the only article of clothing that occupied it. She reached beneath her pillow and retrieved the ring saber that had been given to her by Darth Vader. She held over her head, her dark eyes running over every detail of its construction. She had built her own weapons, but never a lightsaber. She wished very much to take it apart. Unfortunately she did not feel that she would receive a replacement if she wasn't able to put it back to together again.

Suddenly she felt a shift in the Force that called out to her, a repeat of the feeling that must have awoken her in the first place. _Assemble._ She jumped out of bed and quickly got into her jumpsuit. A few minutes later she found herself standing in a line with the other recruits in the cavernous room where all of their training had taken place. There were nine of them in total. A pale and wrinkled human man had joined the group after the beginning of their training. He seemed to have a deep understanding of the dark side.

During the training some of the recruits had lost limbs during combat demonstrations from their master, who seemed to have a steady supply of prosthetics available and a great willingness to put them to use. Vader entered the room from a circular doorway across from them. A cloud of steam billowed around him, making it seem as if he emerged from the ether itself. A battered and beaten KX-series security droid followed in his wake, pushing a metallic cart. Upon the cart were eight black helmets.

"Your training is now complete," Vader spoke to the assembled group, the hissing sounds of his respirator punctuating each carefully pronounced syllable. "Your skills are now sufficient to serve the Emperor as his Inquisitors."

She watched Vader as he slowly walked down the line. She looked into the black lenses of his helmet as his gaze went over her, but was careful to keep her expression neutral. Some of the others favored diverting their gaze. Vader reacted the same either way, which is to say without the slightest concern.

"Your duties will vary, but the primary mission of the Inquisitorial will be to hunt down and eliminate the remaining Jedi who survived the Emperor's purge. The Empire's spy agencies, the Imperial Security Bureau and Imperial Intelligence agency, will pass along all intelligence relating to this task. Your order will be part of Imperial Intelligence, but you will operate independently. You answer to me and the Emperor, but also to your own internal hierarchy."

Vader paused, taking a step back from the group. "The Dark Side of the Force rewards those with the strength and skill to wield it with great power. Your strength in the Force and skill with your lightsaber, as well as the successful completion of your duties, will determine your rank. First…"

One of the black helmets lifted itself off the cart. It gracefully moved through the air until it hovered in front of the Pau'an man who had once been a member of the Jedi Temple Guard. "The Grand Inquisitor. You are the leader of the Inquisitorius and responsible for the continued training and oversight of this group. Your orders to the rest will not be questioned. But do not forget your place," Vader added with a subtle hand gesture over the hilt of his own lightsaber.

"Thank you, my Master," the Grand Inquisitor said. He took the black helmet, which was shaped similarly to Vader's, and placed it upon his head.

"Next, the Second Brother," Vader said. The next helmet moved from the table and glided before the pale human, who took it with a grin that revealed his yellowed teeth.

"The Third Sister," Vader said. The third helmet rose and drifted forward. This time it hovered before the blue skinned woman. Expressionless she took it and placed it upon her head. It was fitted perfectly. She tilted her head from side to side, finding that the protective back that covered much of her neck did not offer a hindrance to her movement.

Vader continued telekinetically handing out helmets until the entire group had received their rank. "When you return to your rooms you will find the remainder of your uniforms. They, and your lightsabers, are your only possessions." He crossed his arms over his thick torso. "And now, your first assignments."

Vader moved to face the Grand Inquisitor. "You and the Third Sister will take a shuttle to the Obroa-Skai system. The leader of COMPNOR, Ishin-il-Raz, is overseeing the transfer of sensitive artifacts to from the Archive on Obroa-Skai to Imperial Center. He has...limited operational experience. You will provide assistance and advice, and deal with any insurrections from local authorities."

"Yes my Lord," the Grand Inquisitor said. If he seemed put off by the banality of his first mission he didn't show it.

"As you wish," the Third Sister spoke. Vader issued other tasks to the rest of the group, always putting them into groups of two or three. It seemed that their Master did not yet trust them to operate on their own. Perhaps he believed some of them would simply not return.

As the Third Sister adjusted her grip on the ring saber she held behind her back she thought that Vader's precautions were warranted. She had been offered a place within the Empire not long after its founding, and although she had not known that this position in the Inquisitorius was her ultimate destination, the results of turning the offer down had been clear. _Death._ She had been dealing death to others for almost a decade. Now it seemed she would be doing the same with the government's approval.

"You have your orders," Vader said after dispensing orders to the Ninth Sister, the large Dowutin woman, and the Tenth Brother, the Miralukan man. "I expect complete success. Failure will not be tolerated."

"Yes, my Master," the group said almost in unison. At that Vader spun, his cape billowing behind him, and exited the cavernous room. The Grand Inquisitor glanced towards her, an annoyed expression on his face. Some of the others would be hunting down Padawans who had escaped the purge. Others were tasked with located a Separatist leader who survived the end of the war. And yet the leader of the group would be babysitting a bureaucrat, along with the only Inquisitor who had bested him in combat. The Third Sister met his expression without any of her own, her dark blue, almost purple hued skin making her face seem like hardly more than shadow beneath her helmet.

"I'm ready to leave when you are," she said. " _Grand_ Inquisitor."

"Be at the main entrance in five minutes," he ordered with a slightly heightened tenor to his proper Core worlds accent. The Third Sister smirked, finally breaking her neutral expression, and made her way back to her dormitory room. She looking forward to getting off of Coruscant. She moved her ring saber to one side, flipping a switch and changing the power settings from practice to lethal levels. She hoped, dearly, that someone _would_ attempt stealing artifacts. "All things in good time," she whispered to herself.


End file.
